Shadows Upon Netherfield
by NoraKipling
Summary: Set shortly after Jane falls ill upon going to Netherfield Park, Elizabeth follows and injures herself on the way, only to be rescued by one Mr. Darcy. A divergence of the events in the original Pride and Prejudice.
1. Chapter 1

I hope you enjoy this variation on Pride and Prejudice! I will be publishing the full version on Amazon, but will update with quite a few more chapters in the mean time. I hope you like it! I have another story up on Amazon right now called Christmas At Netherfield which you can find at Amazon, just look me up: Nora Kipling.

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Fresh air rushed across Elizabeth Bennet's cheeks as she made her way down the road towards Netherfield.

"It's not all that far, after all," she said to herself aloud, repeating the words she had spoken to her family just a short time ago when she had been warm and entirely dry in the safety of Longbourn. Now, though, having sunk several times up to her ankles in the mud and dirt she was not all that thrilled at the decision she'd made. Going to Netherfield Park, what had she been thinking?

Only of Jane, her beloved sister Jane. That had been her one thought: to see to Jane's needs and make sure that her sister was being cared for in the manner she needed to be. Goodness, but only one sister could help another convalesce especially among such esteemed company as Jane had found herself in at Netherfield Park.

If only Netherfield wasn't quite so far away, and if only the road wasn't quite so wet as it had been. She pulled her bonnet further down on her head and wished the plaited straw would do more to protect her delicate ears and the back of her neck. It was chilly out, and the wet was creeping up her skirts so much that the under layers were sticking to her legs. She held her arms around herself, her wool shawl not cutting the wind but at least keeping the heat tightly pressed inside of her.

Netherfield couldn't be too much further, could it? She ached to sit beside a warm fire, with a good book and the top layer of her skirts pulled up in an unladylike manner so she could warm her legs. She was beginning to think she might never regain feeling her legs ever again.

The sound of a horse's hooves around the next bend in the road made her step to the side, clearing a path for the rider that might be coming. So anxious was she to not get in the way of a horse that she didn't notice the patch of mud just to her right. Her booted foot caught in it, and the sucking mess grabbed at her. With the weight of her water-logged dress, and with a set of limbs that were stiff from the cold she flailed and went down with a cry, tumbling into the mess of mud and matted grasses.

Cold! Immediate cold soaked right through the cotton of her gown and she gasped, struggling to get to her feet. Her boot was nearly wrenched from her, so strong was the hold of the mud.

"Whoa!" a deep male voice said, and she looked up, her eyes widening in dismay at the sight in front of her. Mr. Darcy, astrid a tall black horse, his collar turned up against the wind, his hat rising sharp and tall over his wind-tossed hair. Her cheeks immediately burned with shame, to be found wallowing like a pig in muck by the one man she had hoped never to catch sight of again.

Not handsome enough to tempt him! Well certainly not now, that she was all over mud, and soaked right down to her pantalettes. She lifted a dirty hand to push the hair out of her eyes, bumping her bonnet as she did so.

"Miss Bennet," Mr. Darcy said with the most peculiar look on his face. He was frozen, for just a moment, and then he dismounted from his horse in a sharp movement. He was striding to her, and she gulped down a noise of dismay. Of all the people to see her in such a manner, it would be Mr. Darcy. She felt in that moment as she would never live the moment down, and that the shame of her situation would be worn on her scarlet cheeks for the world to see for the rest of her life.

She thought he might only offer her his hand, but he reached for her, both his arms outstretched. She felt him tuck his hands around her ribcage, and he lifted her out of the mud and mess, leaving her no choice but to press up against him and get his fine riding costume filthy with dirt.

"Oh," she said as a lance of pain shot up her ankle when he pulled her from the mud. A wince crossed her face as he settled her upright, his arms still around her and holding her close.

"Miss Bennet, you are hurt," he stated with a frown, his brow furrowed. He pulled away from her, his hand lingering on her forearm to steady her in case she decided to topple over she supposed. He must think her weak, not at all the stout country maiden. Not only was she not handsome enough, she was a fainting blossom. More shame burnt her cheeks, for she had never been proud to be a dainty, delicate creature and had always trusted in the frame that she had been blessed with: strong and able. She felt weak now though, from her long trek from Longbourn and now the humiliation and pain of having been found frolicking in a mud wallow.

"I thank you for your assistance, Mr. Darcy," she said, trying to sound appreciative when all she felt was short and irritable. "But I am quite fine. I am just walking to Netherfield Park to see my sister when-" she trailed off and looked at the mud patch. He followed her gaze and then cleared his throat.

"I myself was riding to visit your father at Longbourn," he said, with a shake of his head. "I am afraid I have grave news. Your sister has taken a turn for the worse, and has become more ill with the poor weather. The damp creeps even into Netherfield's warmest rooms."

Fear struck at her, crackling through her chest like a thousand static shocks at his words.

"She fares even worse than before?" Elizabeth whispered and then looked down the road with determination. She started walking, favoring strongly her sore ankle as sharp bites of pain licked at her right from the bone. Her skirts stuck to her legs as she moved, and every single step was absolute agony. Shame, fear, nagging worry that bordered on panic, all warred within her and weighed her down as surely as her soaked dresses did.

"Miss Bennet," Mr. Darcy didn't let her get more than five feet before grabbing her wrist. "You are hurt, you will barely make the manor before tomorrow's night fall, and injured as you are you will be of no use to your sister." She turned to look at him, her breathing labored already from the effort it took to walk with her injured leg.

"I must go to my sister, immediately," she said, lifting her head proudly. Perhaps he thought her too weak to make the journey, but she would, with or without his judgement.

"Please, ride my horse. It will save you further pain and I will make the journey back to Netherfield on foot." He went to grab his horse's reins, the beast having stood there patiently while Mr. Darcy had rescued her from the mud.

"I couldn't," she protested, noting that the saddle was not meant for a lady, for riding with both legs to one side. Her cheeks flushed at the thought of riding astride as men did, overwhelming her worries for her sister's wellbeing for just one moment.

"You must," Mr. Darcy insisted. "I will help you into the saddle. Come." He tugged his horse forward and lead her around one side. He saw her eyeing the saddle uncomfortably, and a brief hint of a smile flickered across his normally solemn face. "You may sit to one side, if you wish, just perhaps adjust your grip on the saddle. This is one of my favorite mounts, very steady and so well mannered an elderly lady could ride him without being troubled." He offered her his hand. "Please, Miss Bennet. You are injured, and will become sick as well if you do not find yourself by a warming fire soon."

Her ankle did ache with a ferocity she did not appreciate, and she knew that if she stayed out much longer in her soaked garments she would become ill as her sister had, and be of no use to anybody. She had no choice, she realized, she would have to take Mr. Darcy's mount and ride to Netherfield, leaving the man to walk behind her.

"As you wish," she said, willing some warmth into her tone to thank him for his kindness. She was not pleased to be in the position to have to thank him for anything, given his unkind words regarding his opinion of her at the assembly. But some small, disgruntled part of her did appreciate that he was willing to walk like a peasant so that she might get safely to Netherfield as past as possible.

"It is as I wish," he said, and there was another trace of amusement in his eyes before it was gone again, stone-cold Mr. Darcy that she knew so very little of reappearing in front of her. "Grasp my hand, there's a girl," he said encouragingly as she wrapped her fingers around his forearm. It felt so strange to be close to a man she was not related to in any way, and she was grateful that no passersby had come along the road to see them in such a close embrace. "Foot in the stirrup," he said. She lifted her good leg, biting back a whimper of pain as her ankle shrilled at her with agony. Her leg trembled to hold her weight and he had to help her slip her foot into the stirrup. "And up!" He pushed, and she pushed back, using all her force to heave herself up into the saddle. When she was secured in place, she took a breath and relaxed minutely. She adjusted her seat until she was more comfortable, feeling less like she was going to teeter off the saddle. She longed for a side-saddle, however, and did feel quite out of sorts to be so positioned in improper tack. Mr. Darcy took a moment, arranging her skirts for her modesty, and she felt her cheeks color even brighter at his proprietary nature. Who was he to touch her as such?

Before she could make a noise of outrage though, he passed her the reins.

"I will see you at Netherfield, journey safely, Miss Bennet," he said, stepping back from her so she could encourage the horse into a walk.

She wasn't sure what to say to him as she clucked at the horse and it began to move at a sedate walk. Her ankle throbbed dully, and she was so grateful to no longer have to bear weight on it for the time being. She looked back at Mr. Darcy. He stood in the middle of the road, his hat tall and elegant, his clothing streaked with mud from assisting her, one of his hands fisted just below his sleeve as he watched her with those dark eyes of his.

"Thank you Mr. Darcy," she said, not wanting to lift her hand from the reins lest she unbalance herself and go tumbling from the horse's back. It would not do to fall all over again. He gave her a brief nod, and then disappeared as she rounded the bend. She was alone, with nothing but her thoughts and her shame at the situation she'd found herself in.


	2. Chapter 2

Thank you so much for your kind reviews! Shadows Upon Netherfield is about 33% finished (it's going to be approximately 60,000 words when done). The polished, fully finished version will be available on Amazon sometime in early January 2017. For now, if you feel like supporting me you can go purchase Christmas at Netherfield. 3 Please let me know what you think of this chapter!

Love,

Nora

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Her arrival at Netherfield was heralded with much ado, and she was sure that she painted quite the sight, nearly up to her waist in mud, trotting precariously on a saddle not meant to be ridden to the side as a lady must. She'd been immediately helped down and whisked into the interior of Netherfield where it was warm and dry. Mr. Bingley and Miss Bingley had taken one short look at her, Miss Bingley's upper lip barely registering a curl and Mr. Bingley looking altogether beside himself at the state of her person. Mr. Bingley's expression at least, came from a place of heartfelt kindness and sorrow at the accident she had incurred to her person.

He immediately called for her to be given a set of apartments next to Jane's own rooms, and demanded a hot bath be drawn so she might wash before dinner.

He'd asked if she wished for him to send for a physician to look at her ankle, but she declined his offer. She had already overstayed her welcome and she had been there but half an hour.

After a restorative bath, and an attentive maid to help her dress in a borrowed gown, one by the cut that it had to have belonged to Miss Bingley herself, Elizabeth felt much better. Her ankle still smarted, but she was able to see to her sister and make sure that Jane was alright.

Jane had indeed grown worse since her last letter, her voice reduced to a croak and a sweat upon her brow. Elizabeth soothed her sister with cool clothes and read to her for a time until Jane finally slept.

Mr. Bingley met her outside Jane's door, a handkerchief wrung between his fingers as he paced.

"Is she well?" he asked when Elizabeth emerged. Lizzie shut the door behind her to give Jane some peace so she might rest. She turned to Mr. Bingley, and was not at all surprised to see him so anxious as to Jane's wellbeing. The kind man wore his emotions on his coat sleeve, and she could see in him a very great longing to check on her sister and assure himself that she was well indeed.

"She has been better, Mr. Bingley, but I do say you have taken such a great care of her that she would be much worse had she been at home amongst the bustle of my sisters," Elizabeth reassured him. Jane was quite ill, but nothing that time and some good fortifying soup and warm bricks wouldn't cure. There were a few more bricks heating in the fire, and the maids were taking good care of Jane so if she grew chilled Elizabeth knew they'd be there immediately to warm her.

"You are too kind. I am just sorrowed to see she has grown so ill on her journey here, and you yourself were injured and the road treated you so unjustly. Is it cursed, the way between Longbourn and Netherfield?" he asked, his fingers wringing the handkerchief he held even tighter. Elizabeth couldn't help the startled laugh from her lips, and she covered her mouth with the tips of her fingers.

"No, I do not think so, only that we are cursed to not make a good impression on new company, perhaps," she said with a smile. Mr. Bingley smiled back at her and then shook his head.

"You and your sister make a fine impression, as fine an impression as could be made, at least to me," he replied with a short bow, kindness shining from his face. Jane could not have picked a more handsome, gentle man out of all the men in England, Elizabeth thought, and secretly hoped that her sister's illness would bring the two closer together just as Mrs. Bennet had plotted.

"You are very kind to a poor country girl of no consequence," Elizabeth said and Mr. Bingley scoffed.

"Such modesty is not necessary," Mr. Bingley said, holding out his arm for her to take. She let her hand slip over it and he walked her towards the stairs. "It was easy to see, at the assembly, that both you and Miss Bennet are the jewels of Hertfordshire, and by far lengths are greater beauties than I have seen in the north, or even in London," he flattered her kindly as they walked.

A clatter up the stairs stopped them short, and Mr. Darcy appeared, hatless, his hair in disarray and mud still smearing his clothes.

"Darcy," Mr. Bingley cried out, wanting to move forward but not wanting to abandon Elizabeth as her escort. Mr. Darcy froze as he took in the picture the two of them made, and Elizabeth noted that his eyes fell to where her hand lay along Mr. Bingley's arm. His jaw tensed for a moment and then his gaze flicked to her face. He was inscrutable as always, but she saw a slight hint of _something_ in his eyes that made her hold her breath. It was a look of possession, of crushed longing, of an endured agony that burnt to the bone.

Then it was gone, as if it had never been there at all. She held her breath, waiting for him to say something, for that look of pain to return to his dark eyes. Instead Mr. Bingley spoke on,

"Has my sister called for a bath for you? I am grateful you were going to Longbourn to bring the message yourself that Miss Bennet was faring worse, because poor Miss Elizabeth had quite a fall, did she not?" Mr. Bingley turned his head to smile at Elizabeth, and then comfortingly patted her hand for a brief moment. It was a move she had seen a brother make to a younger sister, and it felt so soothing and welcome that she nearly sighed. Mr. Bingley was kind, and so proper in the execution of his manners that it did not feel like an overstep or impropriety, merely a kindness from one man to a woman he might hope to one day call sister.

At least, she hoped that was his motive.

Mr. Darcy's jaw was tense again when she looked back to him.

"Yes, it is most fortunate for all that I was riding to Longbourn," he said in a quiet voice, his eyes trained on Elizabeth now, not even looking at Mr. Bingley. She felt pinned under the weight his eyes held for her, stuck in the band of the light he turned on her. Why did he gaze at her in such a manner? As if she had offended him on all fronts, when merely hours before he was begging her to take his horse, and could not assist her enough.

Now he looked at her as if she had insulted his name, his family, his ancestors.

"I will escort Miss Elizabeth down to the drawing room, if you would join us before it is time for our repast. That should be enough time for you to wash the mud from between your teeth, Darcy, won't there?" Mr. Bingley was jovial, not seeming to notice the cool air that had descended upon Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy. Mr. Darcy for his part, just nodded and murmured a quiet _good day_ to her as he passed, disappearing down the long hall to his own apartments.

Mr. Bingley helped Elizabeth walk down the stairs, guiding her gently and slowly so she would not further strain her ankle.

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That's all for today 3 3 3


	3. Chapter 3

I am having too much fun with this, and I hope you are too. :) If there's anyone who knows the source material well and wants to beta, feel free to hit me up!

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The drawing room in Netherfield was beautiful, prettier than she ever thought possible. Two servants stood at the entrance to it, their powdered wigs perfect, every hair in place, and the blue velvet of their uniforms pristine. They bowed low to her and Mr. Bingley as he brought her to enter the room. There was a great fire crackling in the far wall, and a few comfortable sitting chairs arranged near it.

"I suppose after the day you've had, the fireside would be best, Miss Elizabeth?" he asked, with a gentle smile for her. He was such a sweet man, she thought as he walked her to the fireplace. He was a perfect match for Jane, in every possible way. She only hoped that a match between the two could be made, if that's what Jane wanted.

"Yes, thank you, I am very sorry again for the imposition to yourself and Mr. Darcy," she said as she sat down, enjoying the warmth that the fire sent sprawling over her, sinking through the layers of her dress and deep into her bones. If she would have been at home she might have taken off the delicate leather shoes on her feet and pulled her skirts up to her knees like her sisters did, to better feel the heat. As it was, she was quite aware that she was out of her own element in every way, and so she held herself as properly as she could, her back arched so it did not touch the back of the chair. No matter that the drawing room was clearly appointed for relaxing engagements of conversation, or for reading a particularly good book, it was a finely decorated chamber and it felt like its contents could have easily purchased Longbourn with their combined value. The divan near the fire had gold leaf flickering along the wooden legs that supported it, and the fabric underneath her was a plush silk velvet. She ran her fingers along it, the material soft and rich underneath her skin, roughened from her trek through the countryside and her soaking bath.

Mr. Bingley took an opposing chair, smiling at her and then glancing at the fire. He looked a bit unsure, as if he wasn't in possession of the right words to say to her at the moment and so they sat in the quiet crackle of the fireplace for long minutes.

"It is quite beautiful, isn't it?" she said as she looked around the room, breaking the silence.

"Yes, we are very content here," Mr. Bingley said, also looking around the room. "It is nice to take a break from other parts of the country to see this particular set." He traced his fingers along the bottom hem of his jacket, and a wistful smile trailed across his face, as if he were thinking of something that was particularly delightful. She had an idea that the delightful 'thing' might be her sister convalescing upstairs.

"You've been so good to my Jane," Elizabeth said, hoping to spur feelings of pride in him. He seemed the sort who fancied himself a rescuer of fair maidens, and when he beamed at her, she knew she was correct in her assessment of his character. It was no bad thing, for a gentleman to be on the lookout for fair women to assist, and she rather thought it was a charming and sweet personality trait. Jane could not have caught the eye of a better man at the assembly, or any assembly that they had been to now that she put her mind to remembering past events.

"She is easy to be good to," Mr. Bingley said, the corner of his mouth tucking up. "She is a happy patient, and although I am sorry she is so ill, it is not entirely unpleasant to have her here with us."

Elizabeth nodded and ran her fingers along the carved arms of the sitting chair she was in, eyeing the flecked and glowing sheen of the wood. There was a cough at the door, and Mr. Darcy entered, Miss Bingley trailing him by a few paces.

"Charles," Miss Bingley said to her brother with a smile as she took a seat on the divan, before nodding her head to Elizabeth. "Miss Eliza."

"Miss Elizabeth," Mr. Darcy murmured, his voice a low rumble that was just barely audible as he came to stand next to the fire. She looked up at him and found him glancing back at her even though he was turned away, his hand resting on the mantle. His body was tilted towards the fire, but his gaze held hers firmly.

"I say it was most fortunate that Mr. Darcy was out riding today, given your circumstance on the road," Miss Bingley said, and although her words were carefully chosen, Elizabeth felt there was a hidden meaning tucked in them that she could not quite decipher yet. "Do you often walk alone, Miss Eliza? It is not done in London, of course, I would not walk on my own as bravely as you do here in Hertfordshire. It is such a refreshing change from the rough and tumble of the capitol, is it not?"

"I would not know," Elizabeth said back with a simple smile, although she was beginning to see the shape of Miss Bingley's intentions and insinuations. "I have not been to London."

"Oh but you must," Miss Bingley said, "if not for the Season at least to see it once before you marry and settle with your husband! I had heard your uncle and aunt were in trade, and had business in London? Have you not thought to journey with them?"

Mr. Darcy was staring at her, she was certain of it. Even as she looked at Miss Bingley, she felt his gaze boring into her neck, like two hot coals glowing in the fire-grate.

"I'm sure, in my own time I will see London. I have had other things to think upon than a visit with my aunt and uncle. They are quite busy, and I do not wish to trouble them with the care and keeping of a young girl to add to those difficulties of travel and trade," Elizabeth said, letting her eyes close so she might glance to the side and see why Mr. Darcy was staring at her so. Miss Bingley saw her glance away, and followed the path of her look until she as well gazed at Mr. Darcy. When Elizabeth looked back at Miss Bingley, she noticed there were two spots of color in the other woman's cheeks, a faint blush that looked more like it was anger than from maidenly shyness.

"It is the country way, to put industry above one's own personal social advancement," Miss Bingley said, with a small laugh that bordered on unkindness. Mr. Bingley glanced between his sister and Elizabeth, and she could see the discomfort on his face. He knew that his sister was bordering on rudeness, but it was not so overt as to be something he could speak to her about, especially given how close they were in age.

So she looked to the fire, and not so incidentally, Mr. Darcy's form. He was gazing into it now, watching the flames lick at the logs and the glowing coals that glittered and wavered with heat beneath. She noticed his thumb was stroking along the long edge of the mantle slowly, in a purposeful circle as if he were appraising it. He looked at everything with such measuring gaze! She could still hear his words at the assembly, _not handsome enough to tempt me_ , and she wondered if the mantle was suffering from the same in-dignifying scrutiny, if perhaps the fire itself was being judged and found wanting by the proud Mr. Darcy.

A well of discomfort, of shame that she so rarely felt, rose up inside her and she took a slow breath to calm her tempers lest she say something and have some Lydia-like outburst of passion and temper. Of the three of them, only Mr. Bingley were tolerable and indeed enjoyable. Mr. Darcy had done her a kindness today, for certain, but he was a mannered gentleman to a fault when confronted by those he did not know well. It was only when he thought he was in the private company of his own statused kind that he thought himself safe enough to utter his insults against her face and character.

When he had seen her, struggling so at the side of the road he knew only one thing that would soothe his manful guilt and that was to help her and render her any assistant that he might have done. And so, the horse, he had offered her that, so she might ride and find herself at Netherfield without facing further indignity to her person and further injury to her ankle.

"Still, I do find it peculiar that living so close to London you have not taken the chance and opportunity to visit and see it, Miss Eliza," Miss Bingley said with a coy smile, withdrawing a silk fan from her purse and opening it with a flick of her wrist. She fanned herself despite the cool nature of the weather outdoors, and Elizabeth wondered at her countenance. When Mr. Darcy's gaze naturally drew to the movement of Miss Bingley's fan, a delicate creation of white silk and pearls, Elizabeth wondered no more. It was clear that Miss Bingley had designs upon securing herself a husband in Mr. Darcy, and it was no large leap in thinking when one considered that Mr. Darcy's best friend and closest companion was Miss Bingley's brother.

The venom in Miss Bingley's words were more understandable, and the change from her presentation and behavior at the assembly almost forgiveable in her efforts to catch herself a husband of greater means than her sister's own Mr. Hurst. Elizabeth watched Mr. Darcy watch Miss Bingley, and when Miss Bingley took notice of the circular way their gazes went 'round the room, a small, self-satisfied smile sprawled across her perfect lips. She tapped the fan to her cheek, a gentle brush that was almost a kiss, and then snapped it shut.

"I should think that dinner is almost ready to be served to us," she said with a graceful rise from her seat. "Shall I check upon your sister, poor dear Miss Bennet, before we dine?" Miss Bingley smiled at Elizabeth, and her eyes were two cold chips of ice as she did so, the expression not rising to crinkle the corners of her lashes.

Miss Bingley was beautiful, and well refined with a proud stature that any woman would sigh with envy for. But Elizabeth felt that deep within Miss Bingley pulsed an unpleasantness that would seep out at every opportunity, and despite all of Miss Bingley's opportunities in life, Elizabeth would not trade their places for all the balls, sumptuous dinners, and lavish gowns in the world.

Certainly not would she trade places, if it meant the trapping and keeping of a man such as Mr. Darcy, who thought so little of those around him that he would speak ill while still within their earshot.

"That would be kind, but please allow me. I shall see to my sister and rejoin you for dinner," Elizabeth said, getting to her feet. She forgot, in that moment of her contemplation of Mr. Darcy and Miss Bingley both, that her ankle was still quite injured. She wavered, a wince crumpling her face, and then at her side was silent and forbidding Mr. Darcy.

He caught her arm in his hand gently, his fingers wrapping around the skin of her wrist, his other hand coming to the small of her back. The heat of his palm branded her through the borrowed dress she wore and she had to take a moment, inhaling deeply before looking up at him in surprise.

There was something in his eyes that had no been there before that moment, and she stared at him, wordless and trying to decipher the meaning of the emotion she saw tucked away there.

"Easy," he murmured, and then once she was righted he let her go, a look of regret and apology on his face for having handled her so.

Well, she supposed, she was so far beneath him that the only one closest to her station he regularly was acquainted with in such a manner was his valet.

"Thank you," she said stiffly, and then turned. Miss Bingley was leveling her with look of such venom, that she nearly stumbled again, but then lifted her chin proudly.

"I will help you to her room," Mr. Bingley said with good cheer, apparently unaware of the trifecta of discomfort between Miss Bingley, Mr. Darcy, and Elizabeth that had been stewing during their reception in the drawing room. In the next moment, Mr. Bingley was getting to his feet and offering Elizabeth his arm. "It would not do for your sister to be neglected on account of your injury."

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Just to clarify because I got a review asking about this: the full version will be available on Amazon in early January, and I will continue posting chapters up on until the entire story is here, but since there's so many chapters that won't be until late Jan or early February. Also, the polished version will be on Amazon, and this is just the draft for your reading pleasure. :)


	4. Chapter 4

It's Christmas Eve, and everything is quite quiet at my house! All the presents are wrapped, and I'm anxiously awaiting for my family to open their gifts.

Thank you so much for your kind comments and reviews, I really appreciate it, especially your keen eyes as you catch out mistakes.

I hope you have a wonderful Christmas if you celebrate it, and some quiet time for relaxation and reading even if you don't!

Much love

Nora

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Dinner was a sumptuous affair, with many courses ordered. Elizabeth felt very satisfied, and was pleased to learn afterwards that her sister had eaten well despite her bed-ridden state. It was good to hear that Jane was being nourished so diligently back to the prime of health. After the meal Elizabeth found herself at odd ends, not all that sure of herself or what she might do to pass the hours before she took to her bed. She was no great player at the pianoforte, and when Miss Bingley had questioned her about it dinner, she had demurred to better players such as her younger sister Mary.

"Yes, I had heard that your sister, Miss Mary, was perhaps the greatest of all those who take to the pianoforte in Hertfordshire," Miss Bingley had said, quick to smile and praise a girl who was surely of no competition to her for Mr. Darcy's affections.

It was one of the moments Elizabeth first had an inkling that despite Caroline Bingley's deliberate and constant advance on Mr. Darcy, Mr. Darcy had in actual fact no intention on returning her affections either discretely or openly. He took no opportunity to praise her during their dinner, no opening he left to engage her in further discussion on topics that interested her (the fashions, the Season, who had become engaged of their circle of _bons amis_ ), and he made no special comments to her advantage. Elizabeth was mildly and privately amused to watch Caroline's advance and Mr. Darcy's retreat. If Elizabeth was apparently not handsome enough to tempt Mr. Darcy, well than neither was Miss Caroline Bingley in all her silken finery, her milk-pale skin, and the height of a fashionable figure she cut in her gown.

Mr. Bingley with all his sweetness and lack of calculated personality, did not seem to notice that his sister was planning a coup with regards to his best friend. Mr. Darcy, however, while he may have remained aloof and unaffected from Miss Bingley, was not unaware that the woman had her intentions for him and he neatly skirted every potential question that might have lead him down the road of announcing his future marital plans.

It was a curious thing, and Elizabeth had felt the tension between them all at dinner like the tugging on a lead that was attached to a wild horse being tamed. She wondered when that horse might break free, and if the horse was Mr. Darcy, or if it was Miss Bingley.

Her thoughts carried her slowly (very slowly, for her ankle was in deep pain despite the care she had been taking with it) to Netherfield's library. The comforting scent of wax, of paper and parchment, of leather bindings, all surrounded her in a olfactory symphony that could not be recognized as anything but the shelter for those who wished the peace and quiet of books and contemplation. She immediately settled herself by a fire that a kind maid stirred up and stoked for her, and picked the first volume within her reach to read. It's pages were marked with a single white feather, slender and pliable. She stroked the softness of it over her cheek for a moment before laying it down on the table and began to read.

Before she could get even a few verses in however, there was a noise at the door. Mr. Darcy entered the library, and although she was in shadow and off on the side of the room, he saw her immediately. His expression was thoughtful rather than forbidding and closed, and she was so startled as he approached her that she almost dropped the book she held.

"Forgive me, Miss Elizabeth," he said as he walked to the fire, a short bow for her. She moved to stand but he held a hand to stay her. "No, you have suffered much today, and it would not do for you to injure yourself further in the pursuit of manners. I think we can both come to some agreement that you should stay settled in your comfort. It is much better to see you arranged here in such a state than the manner in which I was unfortunate to find you while on the road to Netherfield earlier."

Her words dried in her throat as she stared at him, surprised by his thoughtfulness, and also mildly embarrassed at the kindness he had done her. She had been not enough to tempt him, and now here he was, proud countenance making allowances for her and her inability to stand without wobbling!

"I appreciate your charitable forgiveness to me, Mr. Darcy, but I assure you I could stand and curtsy and would if you had not asked me to stay my manners," she said, with a proud lift of her chin. "I would not want you to doubt the good favor you did me earlier though, in proving that I am more than capable to stand, walk, and indeed run at this very moment so I will sit, if that is your wish so that you do not think you walked all the way to Netherfield for nothing."

Her words startled him into laughter, and for the first time since meeting him she saw a true smile on his face. The sight of it so shocked her that she again nearly dropped her book. Her fingers trembled on the edges of it, and she could not for the life of her begin to guess at why the slender digits were failing her in so simple a task as to hold a mere object.

"I did not mean to insult your strength of character, Miss Elizabeth," he said quietly once he had contained his laugh with nothing but a small smile. "I am quite sure you are strong to walk, and run, at this very moment, and if you say so I will not question your conviction in these matters." He smiled again and then looked at the book in her hand. "Wordsworth? A commendable poet, and one of my personal favorites. I had been reading that very volume today when your sister fell deeper into the grip of her illness and we thought it prudent I should ride for Longbourn to deliver the news personally."

"I do find Wordsworth tolerable enough to tempt me," she said without thinking, the steady itch of Mr. Darcy's insult still fresh on the canvas of her mind, and there was a flicker on his when she did so that made her immediately regret her choice of words.

"Ah," was all he said, and then he looked to the fire. "Then I suppose you will not match in my passion for Wordsworth if he is merely tolerable to you, tempted or not."

"No, I would not, although this particular collection is proving enjoyable, or at least it was before our conversation," she said, shame making her more prickly than she would normally like. She owed this man, Mr. Darcy, for the favor he had done her and Jane, and how cruel the fates in the universe were- that she should owe to someone who thought so little of her that he would insult her character and her visual appeal all at once! She had every reason to show him kindness after his efforts of the day, and yet she could not forgive him, not a bit in her stubborn, obstinate heart.

"I have interrupted your time of quiet and contemplation with Mr. Wordsworth then," Mr. Darcy said, his voice chastised and rightly so. Elizabeth felt shame at her words, for was she not as bad as Mr. Darcy, or even worse, for having insulted him directly when he had not realized she would even hear his comments at the assembly? His quite judgement of her had been meant for the private confidence of a close friend, and yet she was outright displaying the rudest of manners to him. She sat up.

"Interrupted yes, but it is not an unwelcome interruption," she said, attempting to salvage the situation before she proved herself as contemptible as he had originally thought her. She gave him a hesitant smile. He blinked at her, slowly, the change in her mannerism taking him by surprise and he gave her a small smile back.

"But are not all interruptions unwelcome?" he asked, tilting his head to one side. She noticed the fall of his dark hair, curling around the high collar of his shirt, and she thought for a moment that in the firelight he did not look as forbidding and proud as he had at the assembly when surrounded by the bustle and stamp of hundreds of feet. He looked almost . . . soft.

She sat up in her seat, pushing that thought to the back of her mind, because no one with a spine as rigid as a fire poker as Mr. Darcy could ever be considered as soft in any way, so it was best to not even consider it.

"Not if the source of the interruption is a passionate lover of Wordsworth's verses, and the person being interrupted has thoughts and questions as to the author's work and could use a wise eye and hand to guide her," she said, holding the book out to him. He smiled and took it from her, coming to sit in another chair next to hers.

"And what verse is it, that you could use guidance on?" he asked, looking at the open page in front of him. "Ah, The Tables Turned," he said, his smile broadening. It was so unusual to see him with an easy look on his face, although she had not known him well nor for that long, she had surmised that he might be the kind of man to never smile. "But this verse is simple in its meaning. It is a verse that encourages one to put down a book." He looked up at her and chuckled. "Perhaps that is the lesson that you must learn then, Miss Elizabeth, that you are to put down this book and engage in some active and out of doors employment."

Elizabeth pressed her fingers to her lips to contain her own answering smile.

"I do not believe that Wordsworth would so encourage me if he had known how I passed most of my day," she commented drily. Mr. Darcy shook his head.

"No, I do not believe he would." He held out the book for her to take back, and for a moment his thumb brushed along the back of her hand when she went to take it. They both paused, her eyes going wide, his own hooding as his gaze swept down low.

"I am sorry," he murmured, pulling his hand away.

"No apology necessary," she said, although the path that his thumb had traced burnt as if it had been drawn over with a sharp stick or a hot coal. She resisted the urge to shake it, lest he think that his touch had bothered her. It had not bothered her. It had not bothered her in the slightest. She was entirely unbothered, so much so that when Miss Caroline Bingley arrived at the entrance to the library, striking such a pose, Elizabeth was very pleased to see her. Ever so pleased.

"Oh Mr. Darcy, Miss Eliza, I am so glad to have found you both! Charles has planned for us to have a game, and would like it if you both came at once," said Miss Bingley, clapping her hands together.

Elizabeth felt Mr. Darcy sigh beside her, and she looked over at him in surprise. His smile was gone, replaced by his normal dour expression.

"That sounds lovely," Elizabeth said, not looking at Miss Bingley as she rose from her seat. She placed the feather back between the pages of the book and laid it on the table. She made her way out of the library, with Mr. Darcy just behind her.


	5. Chapter 5

I hope you had a really good holiday and that the upcoming new years will be great for you! I'm about 23k away from finishing this story, and then it'll up on Amazon right away for you to buy :) or you can wait for me to continue posting all the chapters here! I'm an instant gratification kinda girl (it's why only HALF the cookie dough ends up being turned into cookies because mmmm so tasty unbaked!(, but you might have more patience than I do!

* * *

The next morning dawned clear and bright, all the rain chased away and a beautiful sun pouring over the grand estate's grounds. Elizabeth had her morning bath, enjoying the feel of the warmth on her skin as she washed. She did hope that Jane would be much better with the wet and damp being chased away, and that perhaps they could think about returning to Longbourn. She did not want to stay on the good will and hospitality of the Bingleys for too much longer, and Mr. Darcy was also a puzzle she did not want to work out. There was too much to do at home as well, for her father was no great hand at managing the affairs of Longbourn and Lizzy was beginning to take over some of the small tasks for herself. She had told herself it was part of the training a woman must do so she might be a better partner for any future husband and his holdings, although she did have doubts she would ever find a man tolerable to her that had lands and holdings of any particular size beyond meagre.

Her dress from the day before had been laundered and dried, and so it was with some gratitude that she stepped into her own clothes. The may not have been as fine as Miss Bingley's loaned items from the day before, but they were comfortable, serviceable and cut to her own figure. She did not feel out of her own skin as she had done before. She was her own self, and did not owe to Miss Bingley for the borrowed items anymore. A small thing to be grateful for, but none-the-less an important one.

Before even thinking of descending for breakfast, she checked on her sister and found that she was barred entry to her sister's apartment as Jane was still quite ill and not ready for visitors. Elizabeth sighed and made the maid promise to alert her as soon as Jane was ready to receive her, to which the young woman curtseyed and _yes miss_ 'd until Elizabeth retreated.

Breakfast was a somewhat subdued affair, with Miss Bingley not yet awake, but the addition of Mr. and Mrs. Hurst. They had arrived late in the evening, too late to have been introduced to Elizabeth as she had already gone to her slumber. It was with polite nods of their heads they regarded her, and she them. Mrs. Hurst quered Elizabeth on her family, and the Longbourn estate, while Mr. Hurst was not all that talkative. In speaking with Mrs. Hurst, Elizabeth could see the familial resemblance between her, Miss Bingley, and Mr. Bingley, all of them with sunny copper hair, bright as new pennies and a smattering of freckles that looked as if they would really be pronounced if any of them got sun. Well, Mr. Bingley hunted and so she supposed in the summer he could come out gloriously with the sun kissed marks across his face, but Mrs. Hurst was quite pale, moreso even than her sister Miss Bingley.

Mr. Darcy joined them after the initial introductions had began, and he sat quietly spreading jam upon a round piece of scone. The pastries were sweet and heavy, studded with dried fruit and a finer quality than Elizabeth normally had the pleasure of enjoying. She savored each bite, knowing that her little sojourn in Netherfield would come to an end sooner rather than later, and she would be back to efforts of Longbourn's cook. While the Longbourn offerings were delicious and hearty, they were no match to the elevated cookery that Elizabeth was experiencing at Netherfield. To think, that if Mr. Bingley did indeed make a offer for Jane, this would be Jane's everyday from the wedding onward. Elizabeth surmised that it was a good thing that Jane was always finding delight anew in the smallest of pleasures, so she would probably never tire or grow accustomed to such fine living.

So lost was she in her imaginings of Jane's future, that she did not realize Mr. Darcy had spoken to her. She lifted her head, setting down her fork and managed a weak smile.

"Pardon me?" she asked. Mr. Darcy sighed, and for a moment she wondered if he thought her a silly girl, filled up with fantasies of nothing but lace and puffy clouds.

"Your rest, Miss Elizabeth. I had asked how fared your rest," he repeated himself. There was a sound from Mrs. Hurst much like a muffled snort, but the lady was too elevated to ever call such a noise as emanated from her that. Elizabeth felt a flitter of shameful pink run across her cheeks.

"It fared well. Your hospitality is lovely, Mr. Bingley, and the staff are so attentive to my sister's wellbeing," she said, focusing instead on Mr. Bingley. It was barely tolerable to be shamed in front of these people who had more money than manners. Mr. Bingley, as least, was sweet down to the bone and she knew that he would never mean ill to her with any of his words or the buried meaning within them.

"And your sister's wellbeing, how fares that?" Mr. Darcy asked, his tone flat. Elizbaeth wondered why he was even asking her at all as to her sister's health when he did not seem to care.

"She was not ready for a visit this morning when I went to her rooms, but I thikn she should be much improved with the good turn in the weather," Elizbaeth replied, looking out at the window. The blue sky was a tempting call for a good walk, and she was grateful that her boots had dried out properly. Now if only her ankle would feel better.

"Perhaps she is well enough to take a turn out in the garden and sit in a chaise there?" Mr. Bingley perked up as he offered this idea. Mrs. Hurst smiled gently, tapping her fingers on the table.

"I would think that she may not wish to be seen after being so ill, Charles," Mrs. Hurst said, and Elizabeth wondered at the way he fairly withered at her deflation of his idea.

"It would be no great thing to prepare her for company," Elizabeth said, not looking at Mrs. Hurst but instead Mr. Bingley. "I could have her ready for the afternoon, when the sun is warmest to chase away the chill from her lungs."

Across from her she thought she saw Mr. Darcy stiffen in his seat, but she had no spare thoughts to wonder why. Mrs. Hurst looked displeased, staring down her long nose at the plate in front of her and Elizabeth wondered if Mr. Bingley's interest in Jane was what sparked Mrs. Hurst's disagreeable expression.

"They are quite strong, these country girls," Mr. Hurst interjected, earning himself a wicked look from his wife that he seemed oblivious too. "It is the good air, so refreshing, that brings forth an honest heart, and a stout disposition that will not be laid low by a cold for very long." Mr. Hurst smiled at Elizabeth in such a manner that she felt uncomfortable, and she grabbed another scone to find some sort of employment for her fingers and a focus for her eyes. She was not used to such scrutiny from a married man.

There was a scrape of knife across porceline, and she looked over at Mr. Darcy from beneath her lashes. He was staring at Mr. Hurst so overtly, and in such an affronted manner she wondered what the other man had done to ofend Mr. Darcy so. She spread a layer of clotted cream on her scone and took a delicate lady-like bite, watching the tableau of the two men play out in front of her. Mrs. Hurst eyed them both as well, before clearing her throat.

"Your other sisters, are they well, Miss Eliza?" she asked as she sipped at her tea.

"Oh, very well, all at home every one and I suppose excited for the upcoming harvest season," Elizabeth said, breathing out in quiet relief at something to interrupt the sudden tension at the table. She was unsure as to what had brought it on, but she knew very well that she wanted it to blow out the front door like smoke from the kitchen fire.

"Is there much to do here during autumn?" Mrs. Hurst asked, another delicate sip of her tea following her question.

"The society perhaps isn't what you might be used to, and I am sure it is no match for the Season in London, but I quite enjoy it myself. It is a good time for walks in the countryside, and to feel the last rays of the sun's warmth before winter," Elizabeth said, feeling rather full on scones and rashers of bacon. She had not eaten so heartily in quite some time.

"These walks, do you go alone, Miss Eliza?" Mrs. Hurst asked with a pointed look in her expression.

"Often, Mrs. Hurst, yes. I find it the best way to find space for one's thoughts."

"Do you not have a worry for yourself, Miss Eliza? A young woman, out and presented, alone, going for walks in the wilds?" Mrs. Hurst sounded almost coy, and there was a hint that Elizabeth did not like, the subtle jab that it was somehow improper for a lady to find employment walking on her own two feet for hours by herself. Why, if she was to only take to the fields when she had company, she would never have a minute to her own thoughts! That and her sisters did not take the same pleasure in being out of doors as she did.

"No, I do not, Mrs. Hurst, for it is not all that uncommon here for a lady to take no company but a book with her and perhaps some small pannier with a repast in it should she be out for too long," Elizabeth replied soundly and without a waver in her voice.

"I dare say I won't have heard of such a thing in London," Mrs. Hurst murmured, pressing her fingers to her lower lip in surprise.

"Well London is a cutthroat's paradise," Mr. Hurst said with a chuckle. "No, the only woman there who might find herself out without company is no better-"

"Bingley, do you feel like ride?" Mr. Darcy asked, interrupting Mr. Hurst's unseemly description, or what may have been about to be an unseemly description. Mr. Bingley lifted his head to look at his friend and then nodded.

"Yes, but I would not like to leave our guests with nothing to occupy their time."

"I could stand for a good ride through the fields," Mr. Hurst said. Mrs. Hurst smiled at Elizabeth, although it was a thin veneer of an expression that did not match the coolness in her eyes.

"I myself might retire to our rooms to read," Mrs. Hurst said, leaving Elizabeth the only one with nothing to do. It was no matter, she was long used to learning to entertain herself especially when her younger sisters had kept the staff at Longbourn occupied with minding and caring.

"The library is lonely, and I will be pleased to make my morning there," she said to Mr. Bingley, "do not change your plans on my account. A good ride would be most welcome on a day like today, but I think my ankle would not be up to the task, nor even a small walk much to my disappointment."

Mr. Bingley nodded and then smiled.

"We will go in search of the finest of the summer flowers to bring back to your sister. She should feel better with fresh daisies in her room, I would think," he said and then stood. Miss Elizabeth watched the three men file out of the room, leaving her alone with Mrs. Hurst who said nothing much of anything at all now that there was no other company present. Elizabeth finished her repast and made her way slowly, ever so slowly, to the library.


	6. Chapter 6

Well I hope you're having a wonderful few days in the new year! Welcome 2017, and may it be better than 2016 was.

A thank you to everyone who have been writing such kind reviews - you are so sweet!

Also, a clarification: **the entirety of this story will be available for free, posted on this site.** Yes, I will be making it available for sale on Amazon probably at the end of next weekish or the beginning of week after next, but if you don't mind waiting for me to post the individual chapters, you can read it here over time as I will post the chapters when I have a moment of free time. (we're only on chapter 6 of 48, and I've been known to add more and more chapters as I write and want to flesh out certain scenes). I love the Pride and Prejudice world, and all the Jane Austen fans, and I never want money to be a barrier for anyone enjoying my work. Your purchasing my published books does help support me, as I am a full-time writer who lives off the generosity and support of her delightful readers. I am so grateful, and I work myself to the bone to be able to write quality work that I hope you will enjoy.

The only difference between this story and the one published on Amazon will be:

\+ Awesome cover art :) :) :) ... I spend a really disgusting amount of time looking at fancy pictures of castles, ha ha!  
\+ Polished, final, professionally edited version. (wooo, no silly typos from a sleepy Nora!) The version posted here might have typos, or some funny grammar stuff going on. The final version is usually much cleaner (although never perfect, for some reason that's almost an impossibility...)  
\+ Sometimes I put extras in my books, like a little deleted scene, or I put in thank-yous at the end to certain reviewers who really stood out and made me smile with their comments.

I currently have one published work, entitled Christmas at Netherfield, that's up on Amazon right now if you're enjoying this, you might enjoy that. It's a short "what-if" novella that has Elizabeth turning down Mr. Darcy on his second proposal (oh my goodness, Elizabeth, why?!). It's a clean, sweet romance with a happily-ever-after ending.

Now! With all of that out of the way, there is one thing I want to say about this chapter: it was very hard to write, and I hope it causes no personal upset for anyone. There is very, very mild physical abuse in it. Just a warning, in case that might upset one of my beloved readers.

On with the show...

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The sun glided through the many-paned windows, lighting the colors of the rug aglow in front of the fireplace as Elizabeth read with a sigh. It was so fine a day that she regretted not being able to be out of doors, but a good book was an agreeable enough companion that she did not mind it so much. Slowly the hours passed, and she lifted herself from her chaise to stretch in the quiet room. She took a quick turn around the library shelves and let her fingers trace the spines of the books. What secrets were beneath the leather bindings? She was sure she would discover some new stories as well.

The sound of footsteps brought her out of her reverie, and she looked up to find Mr. Hurst watching her from the doorway. His hand was on one door handle, and he pulled it shut with a soft click. Her heart jumped into her throat for a moment as she watched him, unsure of his intentions. Had he been married so long that his senses had taken leave? It would not do for her to be in the company of a strange man, married or not, with the doors shut.

"Mr. Hurst-" she started, moving slowly towards the door, favoring her ankle.

"Miss Elizabeth," he said with a twinkle in his eye. He advanced on her with an expression that she did not understand, but a sense of foreboding filled her, and she moved back a pace instead of carrying on towards the entrance of the library. "I have returned from my ride. It was a shame you could not join us, with your great injury." He stopped a few feet from her, just out of range that she might reach out and touch him or push him away. His eyes trailed over her body, and she felt her cheeks flush at the frank admiration in his face. She reached instinctively for the shawl she so often had draped around her person to pull it closed over her form and shield it from him, but it was strewn over the back of the chaise and far from her reach.

"Mr. Hurst, if you will beg my pardon-"

"I will beg nothing from you, Elizabeth," he said, his eyelids sinking low as his lashes fluttered. His use of her Christian name, in such a bold manner, shocked her. He was looking at her as if she were a prime piece of horseflesh or a particularly juicy cut of meat about to be carved. Her breath caught in her throat. "Your walks, was it? All by yourself, you walk the fields of Longbourn. For what? You already have an admirable figure; it must not be for exercise. You need not toil either, not like the poor daughters of some men who must add to the family efforts." He stepped up close, his fingers reaching out to grab her wrist. "No, you spoke of these walks with dreamy eyes. Do you meet a special fellow when you make your way down the grassy plains?" his voice had dropped to a low, hushed whisper and panic welled up inside of her as his fingers clamped down hard on her arm.

"What do you think you are doing," she asked, yanking at his grip, but he held her fast, indeed tugged her close, so she fell against his chest. Her hand came out, pressed between them as she fought him.

"Yes, you do, don't you? What is he like, then, a farmer's swain? A shepherd of some sort?" Mr. Hurst's mouth twisted into the mockery of a smile and she panicked entirely, wrenching herself back from him with a cry as her hand struck across his cheek.

He merely laughed, grabbing her wrist again and yanked her against him. Her ankle twisted, sending a sharp spear of agony through her leg. She needed to be anywhere but there, and she nearly pleaded with him to let her go when his next words chilled her.

"Yes, you would part those pretty thighs for any man that passes, since you're near to on the shelf as it is. I had heard of your sisters, all out, every one, and not an offer even hinted at for you yet. Your father must struggle, to provide for all of you girls, and you've not much in the way of the dowry." His eyes darkened as he pulled her into him. Her chest heaved uncomfortably at the neckline of her gown, and she was grateful it was morning dress and not an evening frock that would have exposed her further to him. "I could make you an easy life, Elizabeth," he said her name like a caress and she shuddered.

"I would not be yours, not for a five thousand pounds, not for twenty thousand," she spat in his face, and finally his expression went foul. His grip on her became painful, crushing.

"Foolish girl, you are nothing compared to the great ladies you would hope to be. You and your sister both-"

The door opened, interrupting him, and he let her go. Elizabeth stumbled back with the force she had been using to escape him. She fell against the nearest bookcase, her hands grabbing onto the edge of a shelf.

"Mr. Hurst," Mr. Darcy stepped into the room, a frown on his face. His eyes moved from Mr. Hurst to Elizabeth and back again. His frown deepened. Mr. Hurst, for all his cruelty only moments ago, scooped up a book on a table.

"My dear wife was looking for this," he said, and then nodded to Mr. Darcy before giving a short bow to Elizabeth. "Miss Bennet," he murmured, before walking out of the room.

Elizabeth watched him go with wide eyes, scarcely able to breathe at what had nearly come to pass between them in the library. Mr. Darcy did not look at Mr. Hurst as he passed by, but instead kept his gaze trained on Elizabeth. Worry flickered on his expression, and then it was gone again behind a mask of dull indifference.

"Miss Bennet?" he asked and made a gesture as if to move towards her and inquire if she was alright. She shook her head.

"He did not know I was in here when he closed the door," she said hurriedly, smoothing her hands over her skirts as casually as possibly. She felt ruffled, and her breathing was not quite even as if she had taken a long hard run through the deep grasses of Longbourn. She felt faint, and she thought longingly of her bed. If only she'd stayed abed, or pushed to check on Jane! If she'd been at Jane's side, this would not have happened.

Mr. Darcy continued to look at her with a calculated expression.

"You are pale," he commented, "you are not perhaps coming down with the same illness that has struck your sister, are you?"

"No, no," she said with a shake of her head before attempting to give him a smile. "I am just longing for the sun and a walk in it." Inside, her stomach was trembling, and her body felt like one big ache. The moment Mr. Hurst had grabbed her was so far away; it was as if she had imagined it altogether. She could scarcely believe that it had actually happened.

Horrible, dreadful Mr. Hurst! She never wanted to see the man again, let alone be in his company for any length of time.

Mr. Darcy approached her with care as if she were a skittish filly about to bolt. She eyed him with some suspicion. He held out his hand.

"May I?" he asked. She looked at him with confusion as he took her hand gently, his fingers going to the sleeve at her wrist. Slowly, with care, he pushed the soft-woven cotton up her arm. A raw, red mark chafed her skin, the clear outline of a man's fingerprints.

She inhaled softly and went to pull away, needing to hold the visual evidence of her shame against her chest.

"He did this?" Mr. Darcy asked, his voice very quiet. His eyes were dark, inscrutable, and she felt pinned as if a beetle to a piece of card. It was all she could do to just give one short, small nod. He pulled the sleeve back down her wrist with no small amount of tenderness.

"Your sister is awake, and asking for you," he said. "Would you like it if I walked you to her rooms?" He offered her his arm, and she swallowed then nodded, putting her fingers lightly on top of his wrist. "Very good, Miss Bennet," he said, and he accompanied her out of the room. Her heart was still beating furiously in her chest, but she felt some small amount of comfort from the tall, quiet figure of Mr. Darcy beside her.

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Well, my doves, I hope you enjoyed that! Mr. Darcy is my absolute favorite hero, and I'm sure since you're reading this, he's yours as well. Until next time!

Much love,

Nora


	7. Chapter 7

At supper, Mr. and Mrs. Hurst were absent, and none of the other diners remarked upon it. Miss Bingley asked Elizabeth about Jane, but it was clear that the haughty woman did not really care and was in fact quite grateful that the object of her brother's desire was locked away in her sick bed.

"Truly, would she not convalesce better at home? We could send a litter for her, so she might return to the comforts of Longbourn," Miss Bingley said. Charles looked disheartened at her words, but Mr. Darcy was the one who spoke,

"No I think it is best she is not moved until she is well enough. It is quiet here in Netherfield, and we have plenty of those to care for her. This way she will not be a burden on a family that already has four other daughters to look after," he said, as if it was decided and it was he himself who had letted out Netherfield.

Elizabeth cut the pheasant breast in front of her without a word. She had been feeling shaky, and had only emerged from Jane's rooms to dine with the rest f the company. Truly she had dreaded it, and each moment she was wound tighter with the anticipation that Mr. Hurst would walk in and she would have to relive the whole terrifying ordeal all over again. Under the cover of her sleeve she knew that her wrist was begin to darken and purple from the pressure he had put on her skin. It did not matter she spent more time in the sun than she ought, a darkened tan would not hide the evidence of his fingers on her person.

Her cheeks flushed with the shame of it and she did not notice the rest of the supper as it passed by in a blur of changing plates and platters of food.

It was only after dinner when she saw Mr. Bingley's kind face smiling down at her as he asked to walk her to the drawing room that she came back into herself.

When they got there she was surprised to see Jane reclining on one divan, a warm blanket wrapped around her. Elizabeth, so relieved to see her sister sitting up and well enough to join them, abandoned Mr. Bingley to his delighted laugh.

She embraced her sister tightly hoping all the while that Jane would not feel the tremble running through her body. No such luck; Jane looked at her right in the face, a frown on her pretty face.

"Are you alright, Lizzy?" she asked in a low voice. Elizabeth just managed a half smile and sat down next to her, spreading her skirts out as a lady would do after her display if indecorous affection.

"I am well to see you up and about, that is all, sister-mine," she replied, taking one of Jane's chilled hands between her own and chafing the skin to warm it.

"Miss Bennet," Mr. Bingley started, but Jane interrupted him.

"Please, you must call me Jane, as I have spent so long in your house being an imposition I won't have you standing on formality with me any longer," Jane said. Mr. Bingley smiled.

"Then you must call me Charles then," he said, taking her other hand and bowing low over it. He looked up at her through the flop of golden-red hair that hung low in his eyes, and Elizabeth could have sighed at the exchange of affection she saw between the two of them.

Mr. Darcy cleared his throat, Miss Bingley on his arm as they entered.

"Miss Bennet, I see that you are out of bed and well again," Miss Bingley said with a thin smile, turning to Mr. Darcy. "It is lucky that Netherfield is so well equipped to host guests at the last minute, for a country manor as it is."

"Netherfield is perfectly equipped, and we are thusly grateful that dear Jane grew ill so she might test our preparedness for the most last-minute guest," Mr. Bingley said without a hint that he had heard the insult in his sister's words. Elizabeth certainly had, for she knew well that Miss Bingley would have much preferred to be the only single and available young lady at Netherfield when Mr. Darcy was presumed to be wanting for a wife. A jewel glows brighter set alone, than amongst its sisters, was probably Miss Bingley's line of thinking.

Given that Mrs. Hurst had married for taste and fashion rather than business and finance, Miss Bingley was likely looking to better herself financially than her sister had through marital vows. Also given that Mr. Darcy was in possession of 10,000 pounds per annum or even greater depending on the economy of his estates, he would be a fine prize for Miss Bingley.

As it was Elizabeth wasn't all that certain that Mr. Darcy had any interested in Miss Bingley, given that he rarely favored her with conversation or polite compliments. It was not in his nature to do so, she had observed, but he paid no more attention to Miss Bingley than he did any of the other women. There was perhaps some small pleasure to be taken in being treated with regular indifference by Mr. Darcy: knowing that he treated Miss Bingley the same was a small balm on the wound. If he found Elizabeth to be merely tolerable and not handsome enough to tempt him, and he treated Miss Bingley in a similar manner, then surely Miss Bingley was merely tolerable and not handsome enough.

That thought put a mean, if satisfied little smile on Elizabeth's face, and Jane leaned close to whisper,

"What are you thinking about, Lizzy?"

Elizabeth just shook her head and tucked away her thoughts to support her and as a shore against the memory of Mr. Hurst's hands on her person. She, quite frankly, needed all the cheering she could muster.

"I had heard that your other sister, Mrs. Hurst and her husband, Mr. Hurst, were here?" Jane asked, looking at Mr. Bingley. He smiled in return.

"Yes, but for a day to visit, and then gone again. He had affairs of his own to attend to, and received a messenger from his family home in London. I had hoped they would stay longer, and perhaps they will return-" Mr. Bingley cut off as Mr. Darcy stood, pacing to the fire where he grabbed a long poker and gave a vicious jab to one of the logs that was hanging off the grate and threatening to tumble onto the tiled mosaic in front of the fire.

"It would be nice to have gone to London with Louisa," Miss Bingley said, withdrawing her fan from a pouch at her waist and flipping it open with a casual flick of her wrist.

"Yes, well, duty calls and I do not think it was a visit meant for frivolity," Mr. Darcy commented to the fireplace, a dark tone in his voice. Jane squeezed Elizabeth's hand and smiled at her.

"I am just grateful to be up and about. Laying in bed all day is not for me," she said then smiled at Mr. Bingley. "Although the books you had brought up to me were quite well enough to wear away the hours, so I do thank you again for them."

"Will you return to Longbourn tomorrow," Miss Bingley asked, drawing the silken edge of her fan across the side of her cheek for a moment. Her eyes flicked from the two Bennet sisters to the shadowed form of Mr. Darcy who stood to one side of the fireplace as he stared within it at the flames.

"I should think, if I am well enough it would be good to no longer play at being a guest and go home," Jane said, although she looked at Mr. Bingley when she answered. Elizabeth hoped for Jane's sake that Mr. Bingley invited them to stay longer even if she herself wished to go home immediately, but he too was preoccupied at the sight of Mr. Darcy by the fire and did not take the opportunity to extend their invitation.

"Well that' alright then," Jane murmured, and smoothed her face into one of hidden disappointment so as to not let on her true feelings. From the look of satisfaction on Miss Bingley's face, however, Elizabeth knew that the other woman was well aware of the feelings Jane carried for Charles and vice versa.

She thought in that moment that nothing good could come of the other Bingley sibling, nor of the Hursts. All three of them were rotten to the core, and only Charles Bingley was the sole exception. What then did that say of proud Mr. Darcy, and his confusing way of rescuing her and then acting as if he had wished he'd done the very opposite?

She glanced at him, as he turned the fire poker in his hand, staring down at the brass length of it with a distant look on his face.


	8. Chapter 8

Hello my dears! Thank you so much for your kind comments, I am treasuring each and every single one.

Yesterday I finished up the final chapter of _Shadows Upon Netherfield_. I've let it sit for a day, and now I am returning to edit it. Soon it'll be up for purchase, which you can do on Amazon, but I will also continue to post the chapters here over the coming weeks if you have the patience to wait.

I had so much fun writing my first novel-length (66,824 words! almost 200 pages!) Jane Austen variation, and I really appreciate your feedback! I've already got another full-length book plotted out because I am having much, much too much fun writing in this world. I hope I can do justice to our Lizzy and Darcy. 3

* * *

Elizabeth passed the night in a restless sleep, and could not find comfort in the soft linens of her bed, nor the crackling fire that warmed the room. She wrapped herself up in her robe and crept out of her room sometime after the moon had risen and lit the still halls of Netherfield. She wanted to return to the library, to reaffirm that Mr. Hurst was well and truly gone, and his actions had not tainted what normally would feel like a refuge to her. Her bare feet ghosted on the carpeted stairs, and she felt a thrill of boldness in her to be out in a strange house so ill-dressed.

She would not be contained by the likes of Mr. Hurst, nor his assumptions on her lack of proprietary. She would be her own woman, through and through, and damn him if he thought he could steal that away from her.

He was far away by now, surely on his way to London with Mrs. Hurst, but she would not forget the tight vise of his fingers on her. Nor would her skin soon forget, as it was still marred with the shape of his hand in the form of an ugly bruise that sprawled over her wrist and forearm. There was even a thin red line where the nail from his thumb had dug into the fleshy soft underneath part of her arm.

When she got to the library, she found the door ajar, and she slipped inside. The candles were out, but the fireplace glowed with embers, and she snuck up to it and kneeled down in front of it. It chased the chill from the air around her and she soaked up the warmth, closing her eyes. She lifted her fingers to her braid, combing her fingers through the little tail at the end, curling the hairs there. There was a great silence in the house, normally abustle with the sounds of servants and maids, all busy with the running of such an estate for the grand men and ladies who walked the halls. Now however, it was quiet, much less grand in the shadows, a more private and personal feel. It was as if the house were a pair of lungs, slowly breathing through the slumber of its inhabitants. She scooted closer to the fire, curling her knees up under her chin as she held her aching arm towards the warmth of the embers.

"Does it hurt?" a voice behind her made her gasp and whirl, grabbing at her robe to hold it shut even though she was completely covered.

Mr. Darcy stood in the doorway, a candelabra in his hand as a defense against the dark. His eyes lingered over her small, wound up form, and she felt caught and dreadfully embarrassed.

"Pardon?" she asked, at a loss of what else to say.

"I asked, does it hurt? He hurt you, does the pain linger?" He took a step into the room, setting the candelabra down on a nearby desk before walking to her. He knelt, coming down on both knees with seemingly no more thought to his behavior than he had for hers. She stared up at him, poleaxed and perplexed, and no small part still embarrassed. "May I see it?" he asked, holding out his hand.

Trembling, she offered her arm to him, palm up. He caught her wrist with his fingers gently, and she nearly gasped when he ran one finger along the outline of Mr. Hurst's hand print.

"It is the most monstrous of men who raises his fist to a woman, child, or defenseless beast," Mr. Darcy said, and there was a darkness in his features that she felt had nothing to do with the injury to her person, and instead perhaps was some small wound that he had difficulty thinking on or perhaps forgetting.

"I will heal," she said, pulling her arm away.

"You should not have to heal," Mr. Darcy answered, easing back on the heels of his soft-soled shoes. They sat in the quiet, looking at one another, and a curious feeling stirred inside Elizabeth that she could not have placed if she had wanted to.

"We do not always get what we want," was all she could think to say, holding her bruised wrist to the fire again to let the heat soothe it. "Now I think it's best that either you leave, or I must make my way back to my room. It's not… that is to say, it is not appropriate for us…" she fumbled on the words and instead looked up at him. The corner of his mouth quirked up.

"I will tell no one of your choice in dressing gown," he said, with a nod to her robe. "Although I do say that the color suits you admirably."

She felt a heat rise to the skin of her cheeks that had nothing to do with the fire as he stood and turned. He was nearly to the doorway when he paused, looking over his shoulder at her.

"I had Bingley send them away."

Her heart thudded in her chest, "what?" she asked.

"I had Bingley send them away, Mr. and Mrs. Hurst. He is not so innocent a man, Bingley is, to think that his brother-in-law might not be capable of such unacceptable behavior in the presence of a young lady. So I had him send them both away. They will not return, not while you occupy your rooms here at Netherfield, not while I occupy mine here either." Mr. Darcy looked ahead of himself again and his shoulders settled straight. He had not yet changed out of his evening attire, and she wondered what had possessed him to not yet prepare for bed. It was quite late.

"Do I owe you thanks then?" she asked.

"You owe me nothing," he answered shortly. "I only ask you do take care not to find yourself in the presence of men unaccompanied by a chaperone. It is not in your nature to be weak, or easily bent to the will of men, but he caught you unexpectedly in a place you thought yourself safe," Mr. Darcy said, his words directed at the door although she could easily hear them.

Her heart pulsed in her throat, a delicate flutter that was uncomfortable.

"But I am alone with you now, am I not, Mr. Darcy?" she asked, a bit of impertinence floating up from her belly that forced the words out of her. His hand clenched, she could see it.

"And do you worry about being alone with me, Miss Bennet?" he asked in return. There was a stiffness in his spine, and he did not turn to look at her although she thought he might ache to, given how tensely he held his body.

She thought on his question and the answer came to her, unbidden, rushing through her. She had known him very little, he had done her no kindness in his initial assessment of her, and yet here, in this place, and on the road to Netherfield he had done her every kindness.

"No, I do not worry, Mr. Darcy," she answered finally. She saw him lift his head.

"You should always worry, Miss Bennet," he said, his words harsh and sharp. His reply was unexpected, and he pushed the door to the library open. "Good night to you," he said, and then he vanished beyond the door into the shadow of the hall.

She sat, still soaking in the heat of the slowly dying fire, wondering at his words, then realized he had left his candelabra. He would have difficulty seeing, going from the partially lit library to the hall. She glanced at the candles, the wax making long, slow paths down the sides of them.

Here again, he had done her another kindness, sacrificed of himself for her comfort. He had left her the candles, she was sure of it, more sure than she had any right to be. But what did it mean? She got to her feet and went to the candelabra, closing her fingers around the weight of it. She would retire to her bed, she thought. All of the sudden a great exhaustion had come over her and she longed for sleep.


	9. Chapter 9

So I have some exciting news! The full novel is up on Amazon now, under the same title _Shadows Upon Netherfield._ I will continue posting the chapters here for you to read, as I know how frustrating it can be to get part way through a story and not have it finish! But if you just cannot wait, it's up on Amazon for you to check out, with a pretty cover as well!

Thank you for all the lovely feedback. Just a note - if you leave me feedback as a guest, and have a question for me, the website won't let me answer you. So if you're expecting a personal response, which I love to give, please make sure you login so I have some way of messaging you back. :)

Much love

Nora

* * *

Jane joined them for breakfast the next morning and enjoyed a good cup of chocolate to restore the color to her regularly blooming cheeks. Mr. Darcy did not glance at Elizabeth, and she did her best to avoid looking at him. It was enough to watch Jane and Mr. Bingley, who could not hide the measure of their affection for one another.

It was with a heavy heart that Elizabeth urged Jane to prepare for the journey home, but prepare they did and shortly after luncheon they were packed away onto a carriage that Netherfield's hostler had supplied. The horse that Jane had ridden over on was tied to the back so it might follow.

Miss Bingley did not come to see them off, nor did Mr. Darcy, but Mr. Bingley did, kissing first Elizabeth's hand chastely, and then Jane's with a slightly longer linger over the latter. Elizabeth did nothing to hide her giggles once Jane found herself loaded into the carriage and they were away. Elizabeth was holding her stomach tightly, trying not to laugh as Jane peered out the curtains as Netherfield slid behind tall hedgerows and grass fields.

"You are a sight, Jane, and so is he," she said with a broad smile. It did her good to see her sister so happy, with such a good prospect as well. It erased in part the pain of what had happened with Mr. Hurst, and the confusing encounters with Mr. Darcy. She was able to push all of those aside to focus on her sister's own joy.

"Wasn't he, though?" Jane sighed, pressing her hand up against the carriage wall and shaking her head as if she needed to hang onto it for balance despite sitting down. "He is altogether too charming, and so polite, so pleased by all he sees. I do not think that man is in possession of a single disagreeable thought, and if he is, it is only to be pleased with how well it does its job at being disagreeable." Jane grabbed Elizabeth's hands and squeezed them gently. "Oh Lizzy," Jane whispered. "It does feel as if I am… as if I might…" she could not finish, and she pressed her lips together.

Elizabeth for her part could barely hold off from embracing her sister tightly.

"Do not speak of it, lest you curse yourself and the possible outcome," Lizzy teased, "only think of how sad you would be if you had made your wishes known to the universe and the universe plotted cruelly against your favor."

"Oh don't say that," Jane cried out, shaking her head, for Jane was sometimes superstitious and easily swayed to thinking that the world could bend its favor for or against someone.

"I am only teasing," Elizabeth said, soothing her sister with a gentle pat on the hand. "Now come, let's count the hawks we see on the way back," she said, pulling back the curtain so they could glance out at the passing countryside.

Once they had arrived at Longbourn, they spilled out of the carriage just as untidily as the other Bennet sisters and their mother poured out of the house.

"My darlings, my darlings," Mrs. Bennet shrieked, embracing both girls as tightly as she could. The older woman fluttered, her hands never still for more than a moment as she took in the way Jane's gown hung off her slim figure. "Oh but you have lost weight, dear Jane, that dratted cold denied you a good meal or two it looks like." She turned to Elizabeth and eyed her stout form. "But I see you suffered no lack of nourishment at Netherfield."

Elizabeth sighed and did not retort in a sharp manner as she might with that common insult, and caught Jane's pained-if-rueful smile behind Mrs. Bennet's back.

"Mamma," Elizabeth said, interrupting and forestalling any other dark comments about her weight or the manner in which she was turned out. "We had a splendid time, and I do believe that Jane may be invited to dine there again. Perhaps this time do not make her go by horse, though." She turned to her sister. "Jane does a much better job of being alluring when she is well and able to go for long walks with a gentleman and his sister, than when she is a-bed and sweating out a horrendous fever."

"Yes, yes, next time it'll be in the carriage or not at all. Now come, into the house, for Jane you still look so pale, and it would do you good to take your place by the fire while Mary plays something soothing for you on the pianoforte." Mrs. Bennet whirled into the house, the younger sisters trailing after her with various looks of envy to indifference depending on their natures.

Soon all were installed in the drawing room, comfortably shawled or with some manner of embroidery in their hands to while away the next few hours until supper.

"But you must tell us all about it," Mrs. Bennet gushed from the divan. Lydia sat next to her, toiling away at a bit of embroidery that would never hang in the pride of place in any home, but was a good effort none the less. Elizabeth was ensconced on another divan, enjoying a good hearty tea with a scone that was not refined as the ones she had eaten at Netherfield, but comforting in its own familiarity.

She had decided to write to Mr. Darcy, and in some way thank him for how he had come to her aide but to also let him know that it had been unnecessary. In all areas she would have been able to help herself, she thought. Even with dreaded and awful Mr. Hurst, had he kept at her for another minute she would have merely lifted a book from a table closest to her and given him a good solid whack over the head with it.

She pushed away all thoughts that she may have actually in fact required Mr. Darcy's assistance, as with distance and time the events had all faded into a middling grey that only served to remind her that she, Elizabeth Bennet, had gotten into much worse scrapes in the past and had never required the help from any gentleman.

Especially not one who found her merely tolerable.

His words still burnt, as a thorn in the side of her ankle. She did her best not to think of his comments, and instead focus on the kindness he had shown her while she stayed at Netherfield. She sat at the writing desk in the far corner, tuning out the tales that her sisters and mothers engaged in exchanging, and endeavored to put pen to paper. She would, by the end of the day, have a letter to Mr. Darcy that would be worthy as some small thank you. As her quill scratched across the paper, she heard a buzz behind her in regards to the arrival of a guest. Her mother urged them all to sit properly when it was determined it was Lady Lucas who had arrived, with her daughter Miss Charlotte Lucas. Elizabeth set her quill down to look up as her good friend and often times confidant, Charlotte, entered the room with her mother. They all stood to receive Lady Lucas and Charlotte, curtsies spreading skirts and causing a rustle of quiet fabric.

Was it her imagination running to the winds, or was Charlotte giving her a most curious, and somewhat worried glance? Lady Lucas spared her no look, and instead walked directly to Mrs. Bennet.

"My dear Mrs. Bennet," she said with a small smile, her usually pale face almost gray in appearance. "I do apologize for our calling without a message in advance."

"Oh, there is no need, I should think, among close friends, to call at times. What is it, the manner of your visit Lady Lucas? You have come over quite pale," Mrs. Bennet commented, putting a hand to Lady Lucas's. The lady shook her head.

"I am afraid I must speak with you in confidence. Charlotte, I am sure you have much to catch up with amongst your friends," she said, and her gaze skipped to Elizabeth for a moment before moving back to Mrs. Bennet. Normally Lady Lucas was quite kind, and not at all the sort to strike up a private and personal conversation. Whatever had brought her to Longbourn must have been grave indeed. Elizabeth's heart beat with nervous anticipation as her mother and Lady Lucas retired to the private salon meant for cautious conversation. Charlotte immediately crossed the room to embrace Lizzy tightly, her arms catching around Lizzy's shoulders.

"Oh Lizzy," she whispered, and then pulled away with a shake of her head. "We had heard-"

"That I was ill?" Jane offered, sitting down on the divan. "Charlotte, could we provide you some tea, perhaps? Something to comfort you from the journey?"

Charlotte shook her head again and sank to the bench that Lizzy had perched upon writing her letter only minutes before. Lydia and Kitty piled onto the divan next to Jane and watched Charlotte with amusement, giggling to themselves. Mary stroked her fingers over the ivory keys of the pianoforte, not in all of the mind to play as tension strung about the room like silk papers at Christmastime.

"Charlotte? What has brought you and your mother here?" Elizabeth asked, feeling a bold wave of apprehension looming behind her shoulders.

"I am afraid, Lizzy, oh I am so sorry," Charlotte said, before embracing her good friend tightly again.

"Charlotte, you are frightening me," Elizabeth whispered into Charlotte's ear. "Come, please, tell me, what is it?" She sat back so she could look one of her oldest friends properly in the face. There were tears glistening in the corners of Charlotte's eyes.

"It came to us, as all bad news does, fast and furious, and for all your good reputation that has held you steadfastly these years, it has been for naught," Charlotte said. At once a hot stone of worry sunk into Elizabeth's stomach, and she felt cold and heated all at the same time.

"My reputation," she murmured, then gave a shake of her head. "Charlotte, what do you mean by this?"

"You are ruined, Lizzy," Charlotte said, a single tear working down her cheek, which she wiped furiously away. "You are ruined, and I am so sorry."


	10. Chapter 10

The sun set on Longbourn, but not on the grief and hot anger in Elizabeth's stomach. She had retired to the room she shared with Jane with nothing further to say after Charlotte had laid forth the bad tidings. Someone, a serving staff at Netherfield, had seen her in the library, with a man, and the door closed. An assignation, it had been said, with one of the gentlemen of the house. With whom, no one could be sure of, but it was certain she had met with a man there, and gotten up to all sorts of ill-reputed acts.

Her heart hurt, and she cursed herself over and over as she lay in the bed, the white linens nestling her and providing a sort of shroud for her. Surely she was dead, to society, to good society at the very least, ruined entirely and no man would want her. She had not been yet on the shelf, but close enough she could feel it creeping up on her and now…

She had wanted for a happy marriage, a loving one, and not the kind where there were fights to be had at every turning such as the ones between her parents. Now such dreams were out of reach. She could have perhaps looked forward to at least an industrious marriage, a fair and equitable one, but now… now nothing. All was dust and ruin, and her future was entirely bleak. She muffled a sob against her curled fist, and shivered.

That damnable Mr. Hurst! Her wrist still had the faint mark of his attentions. It was a stark reminder of what had happened and how she had managed to spoil herself against all dreams and hopes. There would be no more assemblies or balls, and for all she found them somewhat tiresome it hurt to know she would be forever locked from that world. And if that were not injustice enough, her sisters and her family would bear the taint of her disgrace, forming less and less connections until her indiscretion was forgotten, if it ever would be entirely.

She bit her lip to keep from screaming, her throat feeling raw from all the tears she had shed. She had not waited to see Lady Lucas bid them goodbye, she had gone straight to her room and could not be consoled.

But it was not true, none of it. She'd had no assignation. She had met with no man, not on her choice at any rate. The only person who could possibly corroborate her story was Mr. Darcy, and no matter what small olive branch had been extended between them, she did not think he owed her anything so much as to come to her rescue in this and implicate Mr. Hurst in an impropriety! There was also the risk that word might get out of how she and Mr. Darcy met later that night, in that very library again. No, she could not ask Mr. Darcy to speak for her. It was her own lowly word against Mr. Hurst, who was a fashionable gentleman and well liked in his higher circles. His connections far outstripped her own, and she was well aware that men would often side with other men.

In a war between a man and a woman, it was the woman who came out the loser so frequently. She had not opted to start the war, and already she knew who the victor was. Mr. Hurst may have been forced out of Netherfield, but the echoes of what he had done hurt her more soundly than his hand on her body that day.

There came a rap at the door, and it eased open. Jane slipped in, closing it behind her and Lizzy curled up tighter. She did not want to see her sister. She had ruined herself, and in the process had ruined Jane's prospects with Mr. Bingley. No one would look at her now as a potential Mrs. Bingley, for she might be as bad in her behavior as her sister had been.

"Lizzy," Jane said in a soft voice, as she crept up onto the bed.

"Please… just let me be," Elizabeth replied, her voice choked with tears.

"Oh Lizzy, no," Jane whispered, curling up behind her younger sister and slipping an arm around her. At the first warm and loving touch, Elizabeth dissolved into hysterical tears. Jane made soothing noises, stroking her fingers over Elizabeth's soaked and swollen cheeks, giving her a handkerchief to blow her nose with, and generally being the very best sister that one could ask for.

"I've ruined you, I've ruined it all," Elizabeth said, wanting to put every ounce of sorrow into herself that she could. Jane needed to know how much Lizzy regretted her actions, and how terribly she felt for what had come to pass.

"Oh well now," Jane said, trying to put the positive sunshine on it that she always did. "Are we not both upright, and above ground? This hardly feels ruined. Perhaps a setback in how we thought things might play out for us, but… but Lizzy, please don't cry." She smoothed a thumb over Elizabeth's cheek and was gratified when Elizabeth turned to her, curling her head under Jane's chin. Jane hugged her even closer and sighed. "We'll find a way to make it right."

"Oh but we can't, we can't," Elizabeth said, feeling not the woman of her years, but instead a young girl. She cried into Jane's shoulder until the soft and gentle touches on her hair and back from Jane's hands soothed her into quiet.

"Be easy," Jane said quietly. "We will make it well again. Surely the whole of England will not have heard the falsehoods. I will write to Mr. Bingley and demand to know which of his staff are spreading such rumors and lies about my sister."

Elizabeth felt a flare of gratitude and then fear.

"No, please," she urged. "Do not write to him."

"But why? Clearly it is a lie, meant to spread a bit of gossip from one servant to the other, blown out of proportion. You would never engage in such behavior, Lizzy, I don't even think on it for a minute to be something you would do," Jane sounded so resolute, that it broke Elizabeth's heart to have to tell her the truth of the matter.

"Jane, please, you must listen to me," Elizabeth said, sitting up and wiping the last of her tears from her face. "The things you heard, that Charlotte told us, were not entirely untrue."

Jane's face went very still as she sat up.

"What?" Her eyes were wide, and her cheeks had gone pale. "Come again, Lizzy?"

"I… I did go to the library by myself during the day… I was there reading, and, well…" Elizabeth confessed. Jane's eyebrows hiked up.

"But-" Jane paused and then pressed her fingers to her lips in surprise. "Oh Lizzy."

"It is not what you think. I went to the library as everyone was out riding, and it was so warm and comfortable by the fire there. I thought to maybe read, but then Mr. Hurst-"

"Mr. Hurst!"

"Mr. Hurst entered, and he was acting so strangely, Jane, I had not ever seen a man behave as he did, and he said such awful things, and then grabbed me-"

"He grabbed you?" Jane's eyes were impossibly wider and she sat up. "Oh Lizzy, tell me he did not…"

"No, because Mr. Darcy entered, and stopped him.

"Mr. Darcy…" Jane huffed out a breath. "Mr. Darcy was there?"

"Yes," Elizabeth whispered and looked down at her hands in her lap.

"Then he could speak for you, put these awful rumors to rest."

"I cannot ask it of him. He sent Mr. Hurst away, and he already has done so much."

"But Lizzy, this is your reputation, this is your life, surely he would find it no great difficulty to speak out on your behalf?" Jane took Elizabeth's hands in her own and squeezed them tight.

"And then what, have him bereft of his closest friend, Mr. Bingley? What will be come of Mrs. Hurst should the truth be known of her husband's actions? She will become an enemy to me, for turning her husband, that is what she will say, that I drew him in with my wanton country ways. She barely tolerated me at the Netherfield estate, and you no more so!"

"No, she would not say such things, Lizzy you always think the worst of people-"

"And have I not reason?" Elizabeth slipped off the bed and stood, staring at her sister. "Have I not cause? The greatest injustice has been done against my reputation, by a man who meant no kindness towards me in his conduct. I have every reason to doubt the intentions of all men, indeed all people. I will make an enemy of Mrs. Hurst, and by extension her brother, and Mr. Darcy will lose Charles Bingley as a friend and confidant."

"Mr. Bingley is not like that," Jane insisted. "He will see reason, he will know that his brother-in-law-"

"Is a cad? A scoundrel?" Elizabeth cut her sister off again. "Jane, listen to yourself. You do not want to even think ill of a man you are not yet related to and possibly will never be related to. What will Mr. Bingley do when he hears that his brother-in-law attempted to treat me with impropriety? Will he believe the one who is family, or the sister to the girl he once desired?"

"Once?!" Jane cried out, getting off the bed as well, her cheek going red with upset and anger. "He did not once desire- Lizzy, no, he still has interest in me."

"Does he?" Elizabeth asked, hating herself for pushing her dear, beloved sister so but she would not see reason. She was too wrapped up in the goodness of all mankind to see what was right in front of her! "Will he come to call now that I am ruined, and in his household no less?"

Jane made a noise that sounded like a sob and pressed her hand to her face.

"Lizzy, how could you say such things," she whispered and backed up to the door. Elizabeth's heart shuttered, cold and unfeeling. She had to be, in order to say what must be said.

"He will no more take my side than he will come to call on you. I shall give him two weeks to come calling, and if he does not, then you must believe me that he would never choose to take my word over that of his brother-in-law's. If he comes to call… well, then you may write Mr. Darcy and ask him to speak on my behalf," Elizabeth said. Jane's eyes glittered with unshed tears. She said nothing, only shook her head and let herself out of the room, closing the door with a smarting crack of wood.

Elizabeth fell to her knees, her breathing gone hoarse and shallow in her lungs. She curled up there, and sobbed.

* * *

Phew! So distressing! I hope you liked this chapter. The full book is on Amazon, and I am so proud to say it's sold over 400 copies so far. Thank you so much for the support of this humble author!


	11. Chapter 11

Two long weeks passed. Jane spent the nights in with Mary, leaving Lizzy to the bed alone. It was cold, and lonely, for Lizzy ensconced herself in her room and would not be persuaded to come down. Her father was away on business, visiting with their Uncle and Aunt Gardiner, and Mrs. Bennet would not see her second-eldest daughter, so distraught was she by the news Lady Lucas had passed to her.

The house barely limped along, with Jane seeing to the affairs, the younger sisters all of no help at all when it came to the ordering of meals and the speaking with the various people who worked the Longbourn estates.

It was, Jane privately thought, a trial by fire, and a preparation for a future as a wife and mistress of lands that may actually never happen for her. Mr. Bingley had not called. He had not written, or returned her missives to him, small love notes similar to the ones they had exchanged in secret when she had been at Netherfield and convalescing in bed. He'd had his notes sent up to her with her breakfast then, alongside her morning chocolate. Those pretty words folded on scraps of parchment? Well, she kept with her wedding trousseau, the one she may never have the opportunity to wear now that Lizzy's shame had stained the entirety of the Bennet family.

Jane did not weep for herself, though. She plowed onwards, attempting to keep up the spirits of her younger sisters, and making sure that the maids reported to her what Lizzy ate of the food that was sent up to her room.

Enough time passed, that she had all but forgotten the harsh words her sister had said to her, although the meaning had not been lost on her. No, if anything, Jane felt she had a better understanding of the outside world and the unforgiving nature of it. It was a great unfairness, that Lizzy should be ruined for a perfectly lovely future and her sisters along with her, when it had been Mr. Hurst's inability to control himself. Mr. Hurst, she dared say, deserved the most exacting and harsh punishment. Normally Jane was a forgiving sort, and could find it in her heart to let go of the greatest trespasses, but this was one she did not dare even think to forgive.

It was on the morning of the third week, with no word from Mr. Bingley and Elizabeth still not stirring from her room that Jane decided to take matters into her own hands. She sat down in the drawing room, told her sisters to be quiet and began to write.

By the early afternoon, a rushed messenger was on his way to Pemberley, with all deliberate haste to bring Jane's letter to one Mr. Darcy.

Mr. Darcy, who despite his dour countenance and severe nature would not abide by a young woman being ruined by a cad and a callous snake. Jane was certain that there was fairness in Mr. Darcy, and that he would be called by duty and honor to defend Elizabeth's name and reputation. He had saved her once, he would perhaps save her again.

When their father returned to Longbourn, the estate was not in such a great disrepair that he noticed for he noticed very little in the runnings of his own lands. Instead he took note of a certain malaise that hung in the air, and that his wife was not there to greet him.

Only Jane stood at the gate to welcome him home with a kiss and an embrace as tender as any father could hope to have from a loving daughter.

"Come Papa," she said, her normally cheerful face grave and drawn. "We must to your study, to talk."


	12. Chapter 12

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Mr. Bennet's first reaction was to roar his way to London and challenge Mr. Hurst, but Jane urged him not to. She had written to Mr. Darcy, she said, it was best to wait. Already the damage had been done, and there was no need to rush. Patience, Papa, patience, she had pleaded with him. She had never quite seen her father in so great a state of anger, nor had he ever been moved to depart Longbourn so quickly after he had arrived. The slight against Elizabeth, his favorite by far (not that Jane minded, for Lizzy needed someone to love her best above all others), was too great for him to bear without demanding recompense in the way of coin or blood, preferably the latter.

So red in the face was he that Jane actually feared for his health, and she had bade him to calm down lest he rouse the whole house in a frenzy of panic. It was only when she mentioned that Lizzy would want him to be calm that he stilled and the rage coursing through his veins diminished.

He would wait to hear from Mr. Darcy, he agreed, but no longer than a few weeks for he would stop the damage to his beloved Lizzy through any means necessary, up to and including challenging Mr. Hurst to a duel.

So they waited, and Mrs. Bennet finally emerged from her rooms much smaller and paler, the ruin of all of her daughters weighing heavily on her. Jane continued to operate the day to day of the household, finding joy in the simple employment of the smooth running of a home and the estate it sat on.

Lizzy for her part, was a ghost in the house, trailing out to walk the fields for many hours once she could be roused from her room, always with a book in hand. She was wan and pale, looking distraught when not with her nose amongst some pages. Mary played the prettiest tunes on the pianoforte, and yet Lizzy could not be consoled. Jane wondered if the events had fully broken her sister, and if this would be the one thing that could have actually destroyed her sister's normally strong and stout countenance.

Another week passed, and then a messenger came, but it was not one that they had expected. Mr. Collins, their cousin and the parson at Rosings, was coming to call. A stir of fresh air went through the house, for they did not know Mr. Collins well, and he was the one who was set to inherit all of Longbourn upon Mr. Bennet's passing. Mrs. Bennet set about immediately fixing the house and setting it to rights. Despite Jane's best efforts, some things had slipped through the cracks and she had not been able to complete all the tasks to keep the household in its proper form.

All rushed to ready themselves for Mr. Collins, and Elizabeth was dreading his arrival. Since her disgrace was now public knowledge amongst their relations at the very least, she hoped he would not bring it up and further distress her parents and siblings. Her parents had even considered bringing Lydia and Kitty back in from society, although Mr. Bennet had disagreed on that point. He wanted his daughters to all remain out, to show solidarity with one another that this revelation about Lizzy had not ruined his family.

He was a proud man at times, in his own time, and was displeased to think that anyone would speak ill of his children.

When Mr. Collins arrived, he took one look around the Longbourn house and then smiled at each one of his cousins in turn before praising the lady of the house most enthusiastically.

In truth, Mr. Collins was overwhelming with his positive words and generous with his compliments, paying out more praise to each of his young cousins and then to Jane and Elizabeth as well. Lizzy did not quite know what to make of him, if she had to be frank, he was a peculiar man, of shorter stature and an unattractive mess of dark hair on top of his head. He seemed to pay special favor to Jane, of which Lizzy was at once grateful and mortified on her sister's behalf.

It wasn't until part way through his visit that the special attention he paid Jane was redirected to Lizzy, once he was informed that Jane was waiting upon an engagement offer from another gentleman. They had all held their breath, expecting him to make protest that Jane was not available, and again make protest that Lizzy should be offered up in her stead as Lizzy was ruined, possibly forever.

Mr. Collins however, had seemed to have taken no notice of the rumors swirling around Elizabeth Bennet. He instead switched his focus to her, accompanying her on walks with her sisters, but always staying nearby, asking her to share her opinion with him on a matter of different topics.

Elizabeth was not altogether thrilled with his special attentions given how prone he was to drone on and on about his noble patron, the satisfaction he found in the parsonage he had been granted, and his plans for his future wife when he secured one as well. At one point he took her hand in his and looked up into her eyes, for he was shorter than she, and made a flowery little speech about her pure maidenly beauty.

It was so poorly rendered that she had trouble not to laugh right in his face and cause great offense. Instead, she pulled away, and he mumbled something about her maidenly shyness as well.

She did not correct him that it was not maidenly shyness that kept her from engaging him further, but rather repulsion on his very existence and his banal voice and mannerisms. If only he had taken stock in the rumors as to her ruin, because she could not entertain even the slightest thought of spending more than a few days in his company, much less a lifetime. She would surely go mad. Better to be a spinster, a burden to her parents, than married to him and forced to endure his crawling fingers along with his incessant speeches as to the moralities of everyday life.

It was upon the very last day of his visit when he finally made his full intentions known to Elizabeth when he asked for a private audience with her. She held her breath, knowing what was to come, knowing she should accept, but also knowing in her heart that she could not. She would not, under any circumstances, spend the rest of her life attached to him. A cousin, yes, distant family, she could accept him for his quirks and oddness, but that was it. She would not ever be known as his wife.

When he got down on one knee, she pressed a hand to her mouth and shook her head, before telling him she could not be his. His eyes went wide and then narrowed, his nostrils flaring in disbelief as he stared at her, and she got the impression of an obstinate and very disagreeable pony staring at her.

Before he could make further argument to her suitability as a wife for him, she took a deep breath,

"I am quite sure I am not the woman that would bring you every happiness in your life, Mr. Collins," she said, hoping beyond hope that he would drop this farcical attempt at making her his wife. He stared at her and then got to his feet.

"Do you think that it is a matter of your reputation?" he asked, and she felt her heart clench in her chest. "I can assure you, it is no concern of mine. I know you to be an upstanding young lady from a good family, and I have paid no heed to the tellers of tales."

It was her turn to stare at him, and she felt the sting of the past catching up to her.

"You-" she started and then shook her head, taking a step back from him.

"Please, let me do my best to put your fears to rest. The matter of your past will not matter once you are by my side, a devout woman who is prepared to behave in all manners as a good Christian and wife. Christ loves best those who forgive, and I forgive you, Elizabeth, for whatever wrongdoing you may have gotten up to," Mr. Collins said, taking a step towards her to close the distance. Tears burnt in her eyes.

He thought her fallen, and that he was her salvation, that her only hope at rescue was to be in matrimony with a man of the cloth. She could not bear to be in his company a moment longer. She turned and fled.


	13. Chapter 13

She spent the rest of the day, hiding in Longbourn's fields, and refusing to think on what she would do come nightfall. It was only when Lydia came looking for her and pleaded with her to return, showing a rare moment of sisterly affection and comfort.

"Mr. Collins has come away, although he has said he will return once you have been given time to properly think upon an answer to give him," Lydia said as they walked back home. "Mamma is in distress-"

"When is she not?" Elizabeth asked in a low voice, her throat raw with emotion. Lydia gave a giggle and then slung her arm through Elizabeth's, hugging up tight against her.

"Well, she is in extra fits today over your turning down Mr. Collins, but I cannot say I blame you given his odd mannerisms, Lizzy," Lydia said with a sigh as they turned up the path to Longbourn's main house. Once inside she realized the depths to which her parents were in discordancy regarding Mr. Collins proposal. Her father was adamantly against it, and her mother was adamantly for it.

"Only think, Elizabeth, you could not possibly do better than Mr. Collins given your reputation-" her mother argued until her father hushed her.

"Her reputation is what we believe it to be," he said in a disagreeable manner, and it pained Elizabeth to see her already at-odds parents arguing further over her. If only she had not felt the need to go wandering at night, in nothing more than her night gown and robe. She had brought all of this upon herself, but to her great consternation it was not just herself who was suffering, it was the rest of her family as well.

"That's all very well and good, but-" Mrs. Bennet puffed up.

"Enough," Elizabeth interrupted, giving a stern glare to both her parents. "I will not marry Mr. Collins."

"Selfish girl, you will ruin the family as you have done to yourself," Mrs. Bennet shrilled.

"Mamma!" Jane cried out, with a shake of her head, "do not say such things. Lizzy is not ruined." All the members of the family turned to look at the normally quiet and shy Jane. She held a letter in her hands, much crumpled where she had handled it repeatedly. "I have received word," Jane said, swallowing hard to regain her composure under the glazes of her family and the scrutiny her outburst had brought. "Mr. Darcy-"

"What's this of Mr. Darcy?" Mrs. Bennet asked, looking confused. "It was Mr. Bingley who took interest in you-"

"Mr. Darcy has written to me. He… he was with Elizabeth and Mr. Hurst in the library at Netherfield. Elizabeth was not alone with a man. He is putting to right the rumors of her impropriety at my request. He writes that he had… he had not known it was an issue for the lady, that she had been maligned so," Jane said, reading from the letter in her hands. Elizabeth felt a cool feeling wash over her, one of freedom and at the same time indebtedness.

Mr. Darcy had lied. He had lied for her, clearly, since while he had joined her and Mr. Hurst in the library unexpectedly, he had not been there the entire time. Why would he lie?

"Go on Jane," Mrs. Bennet urged. Mr. Bennet had fallen quiet, his gaze traveling from his eldest daughter to Elizabeth. She felt the heat of his eyes on her, but refused to look at him. "What else does he say?" Mrs. Bennet asked.

"They were engaged in a conversation on ethics in latin theatre," Jane continued, before folding the letter. "He wishes us all well, and hopes to see us in the near future as he is planning on returning to spend the remainder of the next month in Netherfield."

Elizabeth let out a slow breath and then found herself under the scrutiny of all her family, just as Jane had been only moments before.

"Is this true? You were not alone, unchaperoned, Elizabeth?" Mrs. Bennet asked, and although she looked surprised, there was also some relief on her features. She laughed and then pressed a hand to her chest. "Why did you not simply say so?"

Elizabeth demurred, looking to the ground. How to explain? She could not tell them that Mr. Darcy had lied on her behalf. She could not reveal him as having told a falsehood. Only Jane knew the truth other than Mr. Darcy and Mr. Hurst, and the latter was not likely to speak as it would reveal him as an assaulter of unmarried women, and an adulterer.

"I suppose I… I thought I got above myself, consorting with the likes of Mr. Darcy and Mr. Hurst," Elizabeth said, and Jane gave her an encouraging smile from behind the rest of the family. Mrs. Bennet just laughed.

"Oh dear, me no, Mr. Bennet, please, you must sit with your daughter and advise her that she is not to feel as if she is consorting about herself, well-" the woman sighed in relief as she spoke, patting at her hair and pushing it away from her face. "I dare say, this whole affair has been quite the trouble. But now, now that is sorted, perhaps Mr. Collins-"

"Lizzy will not marry Mr. Collins," Mr. Bennet said, his voice clear and dark all at once. He looked at Elizabeth steadily. "You will not marry him, and if you do, you may consider yourself not my daughter from thenceforth." His look was severe and Mrs. Bennet gasped, clutching her hand to her breasts.

"But Mr. Bennet!" she cried.

"I have spoken, and that is the last I want to hear on the matter. There will be other offers for our Lizzy," he said, and then turned on his heel, retreating from the room to his study and muttering softly as he went. Elizabeth felt like the muscles in her legs were made of warmed wax, and she sunk down onto the divan nearest her, wondering if she might faint. Her head felt light.

"You must write to Mr. Darcy at once, Elizabeth, Jane, and thank him for his part in clearing up this whole mess of nonsense," Mrs. Bennet said, and she bustled over to Jane to reach for the letter. Jane made some show of fumbling it, and then she cried out as it floated down into the grate of the fire, the parchment catching alight instantly and turning into glowing ash in a heartbeat.

"Oh, my!" Jane cried out. "I am so sorry, Mamma, I must have… well, I know the contents by now, I shall write him a letter of thanks immediately. Do you wish me to send a message by an express?"

There was a whirl of activity around Elizabeth, although she scarcely noticed it, so lost in her thoughts.

Instead she sat there and wondered at what Mr. Darcy could have been thinking. She longed to ask him. She bit her lip.

"I shall write to him," she said into a quiet moment the conversation happened to provide. Her mother and Jane looked at her, while the three younger girls were preoccupied with something out the window. "I shall write to him with my thanks," Elizabeth said. "Mamma, may I have some paper?"

"Yes of course, my sweet girl," Mrs. Bennet said before bustling off to get her writing secretary. Jane came to sit by Elizabeth and took her hands in hers, before exclaiming.

"Lizzy, your hands are so cold!" she cried out, chafing the skin between her own hands to warm it.

"I'm fine, Jane, really," Elizabeth replied. "It just feels as if I have been delivered from the mouth of Hell, to what purpose I am not sure."

"He is a proud man, Mr. Darcy," Jane said, and then she smiled. "But a kind one. It is good, do you not think? To make such acquaintances?" Jane reached up and brushed a curl of hair from Lizzy's forehead to behind her ear. Elizabeth sighed and nodded.

"No Mr. Collins," she murmured.

"No Mr. Collins," Jane agreed, leaning in to give her sister a peck on the forehead. "Now, take a deep breath, for you have truly been delivered by the fates, and I think this calls for some tea with cake, do you not agree?"

There was came a shriek from the windows as Lydia pushed past Kitty.

"Cake!" the youngest cried, a gleam in her eyes. She raced over to Elizabeth and Jane, sitting at their feet. "Oh please, can't we have some cake?" she asked, fluttering her eyelashes prettily. For once, Lydia's antics were not aggravating to Elizabeth, but merely humorous. She found herself laughing, holding her arm across her belly for fear it would burst.

"You may have my cake, Lydia, and if you are good, perhaps Jane will give you hers as well!"

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Thank you for all your kind feedback... thirteen chapters down, another 36 to go! Phew. If you can't wait for me to finish posting, the full thing is available on Amazon and at Barnes and Noble. Just search for Shadows Upon Netherfield by Nora Kipling.

I appreciate your continued support!


	14. Chapter 14

Hello everyone! Thank you so much for the kind reviews! You can find me online norakipling /dot/ com or search for my books on Amazon!

* * *

Shortly after Mr. Darcy's letter, Jane was invited to Netherfield again to dine with Miss Bingley. Notably, Elizabeth was not invited, to which she sighed a private sigh of relief. She did not think she could abide by visiting Netherfield again so soon, and as well she rather felt that Miss Bingley's motivations were less than kind in general. While she may have had her reputation restored by Mr. Darcy, she did not think that Miss Bingley would be so quick to forget the incident. It wasn't until Jane returned with the news of a ball to be held at the Lucas lodge that Elizabeth realized that she would need to eventually face up to the event, and the society of Meryton and the surrounding areas.

"Oh Elizabeth, it was so grand," Jane whispered as they got ready for bed, taking a few moments to help each other brush out their hair. Elizabeth ran her fingers through Jane's silken, gold locks, before dampening the palms of her hands and wetting down the strands.

"And how fared Mr. Bingley?" Elizabeth asked, slyly, as she began to roll up Jane's hair, the linen strips binding off each long coil so they would turn into beautiful curls in the morning.

"Lovely. He sat with me in the afternoon and he read to me, because he said that he wished to prove he could indeed read, as promised." Jane fairly vibrated with excitement, her fingers trembling as she traced her thumb over the raised etching on the back of her silvered hair-brush. Elizabeth nodded and then bound up another long coil of blonde hair.

"His sister then? Was she as refined as you remembered?" Elizabeth worked her hands quickly. Normally a maid would help them with something such as this, but they both relished the chance to gossip in privacy together. If events continued as they seemed to do, the days of sister and sister together would shortly come to an end as Jane took her place as a one Mrs. Bingley of Netherfield Park. Certainly if their mother had any hand in the matter, that would come to pass. Jane did not have any objections to the idea in the slightest, and Elizabeth neither since she felt that Mr. Bingley was a most suitable match in temperament and spirit to her dearest and nearest sister.

"Her dress, oh Lizzy, her dress, you know I am not one to sigh over fashions that I could never hope to wear-"

"You would look the splendid vision in anything you tried, Jane," Elizabeth cut her sister off from her humility.

"I do not have the same delicate lines as she does, as if she were born from willow reeds and wind," Jane said with a sigh, lifting the hand-mirror to peer at her own self in it. Elizabeth chuckled and set one last curl in its linen tie, loose as it might be so that it would not pull on Jane's head while she slept.

"You are the most beautiful girl in all of Hertfordshire, Mamma says so, and you know how cutting she is with her words, even to her own offspring," Elizabeth said with another laugh. "Miss Bingley could only hope to be as pretty as you, and besides, she ruins her own beauty with the unkindness of her tongue."

Jane stood, urging Elizabeth to take her place on the chair so she would be able to put her sister's hair up.

"She had no unkind words for you, not a single mention of the wicked rumors and lies that you had to endure," Jane said, and Elizabeth relaxed into the feel of her sister running the brush through her hair. Her unruly curled locks smoothed out under Jane's ministrations.

"Not a single unkind word or mention of it? I would have thought it to be at least some topic of discussion, given that the reported event supposedly took place under their roof. I am surprised that without talk of my indiscretion that the walls of Netherfield Park haven't fallen down, since there is no wind of gossip to hold them up anymore," Elizabeth said, with no small amount of bitterness. She still shivered sometimes to think of the look in Mr. Hurst's eyes as he grabbed her, and sometimes she felt the ghost of his grip on her arm. What if Mr. Darcy had not walked into the room at that very moment? Would she really have, as she thought, the courage to fight back against Mr. Hurst?

"Not a word of it, I swear to you Lizzy, she did not even sniff when I mentioned you. I think your reputation is well and truly saved," Jane's tone was light and filled with hope. Elizabeth still barely dared to believe that it was true, that Mr. Darcy could have come to her aid in that manner and saved her not once, on the way to Netherfield, but again in the library, and then again, with his correction of any ill word against her purity and good behavior.

"Then I can only be grateful for that. And if she did not mention The Event as we shall name it, what reason did Mr. Bingley have for not calling on you as he ought to have?" she asked, as she felt Jane's deft fingers working her hair up into neat coils.

"He was called away, some business with their home up north in Kent. It was such an urgent matter that he did not even have time to send a letter, although he greatly regrets it, and he said he was in remiss for how he abandoned me so thoroughly and abruptly," Jane said. Elizabeth lifted the hand mirror, glancing at her own features for but a moment before looking up at her sister's face where it reflected in the glass. Jane's expression was one of lingering sadness.

"Do you find his answer acceptable, Jane, or not acceptable?" Elizabeth asked gently, trying to ascertain what was making her sister look so grave.

"Acceptable, but not forgettable," Jane said simply and then sighed, gently pinning another curl into place. "I do not wish to speak ill of anyone, but I have been spoken to before with pretty words by gentlemen who make as if they will offer for me . . ." she trailed off and pursed her lips together. Elizabeth well knew what Jane spoke of. Fortunate to be born the prettiest, but unfortunate enough to be born from a low-if-landed family, Jane's only dowry, beyond the meagre one she would receive from her father, really was her face and figure. Many gentlemen had first found she caught their eye, but soon they would fade as the months passed by, and they found some other pretty thing with better connections or more money. Jane wanted desperately to love and be loved, Lizzy knew for when they spoke at night and shared their small confidences Jane would often sigh with longing for a gentleman to come and pluck her from the Longbourn fold to better things and a brighter future. While Elizabeth may have longed for a love match, she was not fooling herself into believing that every man who came and said some beautiful little poem, or praised her many amiable qualities, would follow through and end up offering for her.

She'd had her heart broken too many times for her to let that lie to take root in her thoughts. Lizzy's own heart ached for her sister and when Jane finished putting up her hair in curls and linen rag strips, Lizzy turned to her and embraced her tightly.

"Then do not forget that he left without thinking of how that might make you feel," Elizabeth said, devout in her opinion that Mr. Bingley was a kind man, if somewhat flighty and perhaps not all that sensible in his actions. Still, it was commendable that he had apologized in some way to Jane for his leaving so suddenly and without even a simple note.

"No, I shall not forget," Jane said, then patted Elizabeth's shoulder. "There we are. All done. Let's get to bed before the cold stops us right where we stand, or rather sit in your case. The bricks will have warmed the bed by now."

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I'm curled up in my bed as I update this, so pleased that I don't need bricks to warm my own bed! Thank you so much for reading, and I'll update with a new chapter in a few days...

\- Nora


	15. Chapter 15

Mrs. Bennet insisted on a visit to Netherfield Park, taking along with her the three youngest girls to be again introduced to the Bingleys and Mr. Darcy of whom it had been said had returned from his business in Pemberley. Elizabeth and Jane were not to attend, as they had been caught up in managing certain affairs at Longbourn that their father had put off. In order to rectify them, and see to the continued running of the estate, they had needed to remain at home.

While Jane pined to visit Mr. Bingley again, Elizabeth herself was grateful she did not have to go. The risk of seeing Mr. Darcy again so soon made her heart flutter in her throat. She had no means of repaying him for his untruths that had cleared her name and reputation with her family if not the rest of the social circle in Meryton and beyond. The fact that he had done so, after so adamantly insulting her person, only served to confuse her. What manner of man went from naming a girl as intolerable and plain, to rescuing her from ruin forever?

It was not something she wished to puzzle over, although a small part of her wondered if she was merely not looking closely enough because there was something in the tall and darkly handsome man that intrigued her. Nonsense! She banished that thought as she slaved over the accounts, her quill scratching over the parchment.

"Oh Lizzy," Jane groaned, and though the elder sister was not often one to complain, she was in a state to have some extreme words over their father's negligence as to certain issues at Longbourn. "I think I shall shrivel, truly, I shall shrivel and turn to parchment myself if I keep at these books much longer."

Elizabeth looked up at the desk across from hers. Their father's study was empty, as the man in question had vacated it once his eldest daughters had descended upon him and he realized that he might not spend the afternoon dozing by the fire with a book in his lap but may in actual fact have been forced to face a reckoning of his own making. He had escaped, under the excuse of needing to ride the grounds of Longbourn and check in with the various families who worked the fields.

Elizabeth and Jane had let him go, knowing he was not much use with the numbers at any rate. It was good practice, they assured each other, for when they were grand ladies of their own households and estates. Neither voiced the concern they both felt that such a future was out of reach and a simple fantasy.

"I would say to take a break, sister-o'-mine," Elizabeth said with a sigh, "but then the work will still be here, waiting for us as a monster awaits its prey in the churchyard at night."

Jane gave an unladylike snort.

"You've been reading those terrible novels that Lydia loves so," Jane teased, "have you not? Don't deny it!"

Elizabeth just rolled her eyes.

"And if I have? She shouldn't leave them alone, scattered about so any person might chance upon them." Elizabeth turned to her sister and smirked, quill raised in the air like a dart. "But pray, how would you know the contents of those little leather tomes, if you had not also read them?"

A pretty flush came across Jane's cheeks and Elizabeth smirk deepened.

"Insolent sibling," Jane said in a cross voice that implied she was not so very annoyed, but only mildly so. Elizabeth laughed when Jane flicked her quill towards her, spattering Elizabeth's hand with ink.

"Been caught out, have you," Elizabeth crowed and then went back to the accounts, the dull sound of her quill scratching across the paper. Jane just huffed out a breath, and settled back to her own work with a low grumble.

They were at it for several more hours before they emerged, blinking and rubbing sore backs just as their family returned from Netherfield. The house went from quiet and studious to overrun and overwhelming in moments.

Lydia was first out of the carriage, grabbing Elizabeth by both hands and trying to drag her older sister around in a skipping dance.

"A ball, a ball," she shrieked. Kitty tumbled down after her, and Mary followed at a more sedate pace, a look of exhaustion and frustration on her face. Jane immediately called for tea, knowing it would settle the middle sister to have some warm comfort after a long ride in the carriage.

"What's this?" Elizabeth asked, trying to extricate herself from Lydia's firm grip. Kitty giggled, pressing her hands to her face as she collapsed on one of the seats in the drawing room. Mrs. Bennet came in, fanning her flushed face and took her usual seat where she could see out the front windows.

"Mr. Bingley is to host a ball, and we are all invited, every one. He was ever so gracious, and Miss Bingley, oh she is quite the beauty of course nothing compared to our dear Jane and little Lydia," Mrs. Bennet said, fanning herself even faster as her eyes drifted up to the ceiling. "He shall have to offer for Jane after the ball, I am sure of it!"

Elizabeth caught Jane's eyes, and Jane smiled in return, both at the idea of Mr. Bingley asking for her, and at their mother's needlessly petting and adding to Lydia's ego yet again.

"Oh there will be a ball," Lydia cried out again, her voice shrill as she danced around the drawing room, grabbing up a handful of ribbons and wrapping them around her neck like a cravat. "How do you do, Miss Bennet," she said to Kitty, bowing low over it and fluttering her eyelashes. "I am Mr. Bingley, with 5,000 pounds a year and this grand estate. Would you like to dance?"

Kitty giggled and curtsied, batting her eyelashes, using her free hand to hold her hair up in curls like Jane wore.

"Yes, Mr. Bingley, I would like to dance, it is ever such a pleasant way to pass an afternoon, isn't it? I do so love dancing."

The two girls grabbed each other by the hand and began spinning in a mockery of no sensible dance Elizabeth had ever seen. They nearly succeeded in knocking over a delicately carved wooden table, a gift from their Uncle and Aunt Gardiner when Mrs. Bennet hissed at them to sit and be still.

"You shall all have new dresses, every one," Mrs. Bennet said after a few moments of uninterrupted peace and quiet. Elizabeth felt her eyebrows hike up and she shot a worried look at Jane. They had been over the accounts together just that afternoon.

"Mamma, are you sure?" Elizabeth asked, knowing that there might not be the money to cover such an expense. Lydia and Kitty had just had new gowns, not so long ago.

"Mamma, I don't think we have the need," Jane piped up, "I think my own gown just from last year is still good, and will not have been seen by the Bingleys or by any of their party at Netherfield."

Mrs. Bennet was not to be swayed, though, and she stood and paced the length of the drawing room, her fan rapidly brushing the stray hairs away from her face.

"No, no, your father will not deny me this request. We must secure Mr. Bingley for you, Jane, and then look to finding an offer for Elizabeth as well," Mrs. Bennet said, turning to her second eldest with an appraising air. "Someone who you might not object so strongly to as you did to Mr. Collins?" There was a hint of bitterness in her expression at that last comment, and Elizabeth squirmed in her seat, not wanting to remember that her mother had likely not yet forgiven her for spurning Mr. Collins' affections so soundly.

"Yes Mamma," was all Elizabeth could bring herself to say to that, but sighed internally in resignation. There would be a ball, and there was nothing for it but for her to go and see Mr. Darcy.

Hopefully, there would be many a matchmaking mother there, eager to sink their claws into him so she might escape his notice. Surely, she was tolerable enough for him to lie on her behalf, but not tolerable enough for him to spend any length of time in her company. That one hope kept her going, and she clung to it over the passing days as they prepared for the ball.

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Thank you so much for reading so far! I love seeing your reviews pop up in my inbox, and hope you are having fun with my little story... You guys are the best!

\- Nora


	16. Chapter 16

"I do not believe I have ever seen you so anxious, Bingley," Mr. Darcy said as he took in his friend's agitated form. They were relaxing in Mr. Bingley's study in Netherfield, ensconced away from the planning of the ball by Miss Bingley and one of her sycophantic acquaintances who had arrived from London just a day prior.

"You are sure they have accepted the invitation?" Mr. Bingley asked, looking into the fire and then turning on his heel, pacing across the room twice, then a third time.

"Who?" Mr. Darcy sat at the desk, looking over a letter he'd received from Georgiana. She missed him terribly, although she understood that Mr. Bingley might need his company more than her own at the time. She herself was doing well with her new governess, a woman of excellent reputation and a guarded air when it came to sheltering Georgiana from more attention like that of Mr. Wickham's…

"Mr. Bennet and his family," Charles Bingley turned, his voice agitated and his hair wild from where he'd run his hands through it. "They have accepted, have they not? It is terrible to think that one of my staff here begun that dreadful tale-" he cut himself off with a groan and leaned against the fireplace.

Mr. Darcy sighed internally. Yes, it had been quite the thing, to think that a member of Netherfield would spread so infamous a story as that Miss Elizabeth had entertained an assignation in the library during her stay.

If only the real account had been out, he thought to himself, rather darkly. He would have horsewhipped Mr. Hurst himself had it not been likely to cause such a scandal for Bingley. Still, he had scared Mr. Hurst within an inch of his life, threatening him that if Mr. Darcy ever heard so much of a whisper of impropriety of that nature again, he would not hesitate to call the man out himself, whether he was related or not to the woman that had been injured. He hoped that the risk of exposure would keep Mr. Hurst in line. Truth to tell, Mr. Darcy was not so convinced but he had not been able to risk the downfall of Mr. Bingley's family for one woman of whom he did not know much.

"They will come, I am sure of it. Which member of their party are you most anxious to see?" Mr. Darcy asked, although he was no blind man to Mr. Bingley's blatant affection for the eldest Miss Bennet. Miss Jane Bennet was a beauty in her own right, a handsome woman with a fastidious and delicate nature, pleasant and intelligent all at once. She had been out, so it was said, for many years and had yet to secure herself an advantageous marriage. That was no great surprise, given the impropriety of her family and their behavior.

While Mr. Darcy did not blame Miss Elizabeth for what had passed in the library, he did wonder if she had taken leave of her senses to go down there with no chaperone in the dead of night. She had not mentioned if she was one who walked in slumber, for those kinds often had someone travel with them to ensure they did not get into trouble while they slept. No, she had decided on her own to go down to the library in nothing but a dressing gown.

He closed his eyes against the image of her fair skin, pale, far paler than it ought to have been, and the tremble in her arm as he held her and inspected the damage that Mr. Hurst had done to her person.

She had been fragile as a spun sugar delicacy, a wisp of dandelion seed ready to take to the skies if a breeze so much as puffed by-

He jerked back into himself and realized that Mr. Bingley had been speaking the entire time he had wandered off into his own thoughts. He scowled, not at what Mr. Bingley had been saying, but at his own mind's folly. Miss Elizabeth was nothing to him, and while he had offered kind words to Miss Jane Bennet in his letter, he did not fancy that he looked forward to seeing any of them at the ball.

It would only serve to remind him of the risks he had taken on Miss Elizabeth's behalf, placing himself where he had not been. If he had not been certain that Mr. Hurst had taken liberties with Miss Elizabeth against her will and wish, he would never have spread the word that they had all been engaged in a lively, late-night discussion.

As it was, Mr. Hurst was almost grateful for the cover over his actions. Lucky, that, or Mr. Darcy might have found himself mired in some deeper controversy.

"Darcy, are you even listening? You sit there, with that…that stupid expression on your face," Mr. Bingley was agitated, for he rarely had a negative word to say to any of his acquaintances.

"She will come," Mr. Darcy said as he rose to his feet and then crossed the room, putting a comforting hand on his friend's shoulder. "She will come, and you will have plenty of opportunities to interview her and see if your mind's vision matches the reality of her countenance and personality."

"It will," Mr. Bingley said, fiercely determined that his memory of Miss Jane Bennet would live up to the real woman herself. "She is the most lovely creature I think I have ever seen."

Mr. Darcy could not help but smile and nod at his friend's ardor.

"It is no bad thing, to be in the state such as you are. But I ask you, does your sister know of the depths of your feelings? Is she aware you are so very taken with Miss Bennet?" Mr. Darcy bent to poke at the fire, stirring up a puff of flame and cloud. A wave of heat washed over them both as the failing log caught alight again with the fresh rush of air allowed at it.

"She does not, although I am afraid I may forget myself at the ball and make my feelings obvious to the most blind and unobservant person," Mr. Bingley said with a sigh. "I love my sister dearly-"

Mr. Darcy thought privately that Mr. Bingley's sentiment needed not to be said as his affection for Caroline Bingley was obvious to anyone, and Mr. Darcy could only attribute it to familial duty as no one would be able to abide by Miss Bingley for very long if they were not related to her or benefiting from her acquaintance in some way.

"Yes, you are a devoted brother to her," Mr. Darcy agreed.

"I love my sister dearly, but I do worry she will not think much of my pursuing a woman with few advantages, such as Miss Bennet is," Mr. Bingley said, chewing on his lower lip in a nervous habit that Mr. Darcy had thought the other man had all but banished from his behaviors.

"And were she to set herself towards a man of the same lack of means and connections? How would you react?" Darcy asked, feeling the need to be honest and attempt to at least have Mr. Bingley see things from his sister's perspective. Mr. Bingley however just chewed on his lip for another moment before shaking his head.

"Mr. Darcy, perhaps it is foolish, but I am a fool in love, and I do believe if she truly adored a man who was not of means and not of connections, that I should tell her to pursue that very gentle fellow." Mr. Bingley looked adamant, and Mr. Darcy was not of the mind to correct him, that much.

"Men who marry for love have warm nights and cold days; it is said. The same is for women, Mr. Bingley. Would you condemn your sister, or yourself, to cold days?" he asked, genuinely surprised at Mr. Bingley's assertions.

"If you had felt the fluttering touch of love in your heart, Mr. Darcy, you would suffer through every cold day for the warmth of your nights," Mr. Bingley said, and then smirked. "I for one, look forward to the day you have fallen like the rest of us fools."

Mr. Darcy opened his mouth to disagree but then closed it with a resounding click. The image of Miss Elizabeth floated across his mind once more and he banished it by standing. He was no fool, for love, for naught else.

"You can only hope that your sister wishes for you to have the warmest of nights then, if this match is to continue past its infancy," he commented mildly. Mr. Bingley's brow furrowed and he got a look of such determination that his next words made Mr. Darcy wonder if Miss Bingley was aware of the thin ice on which she tread with her brother.

"She will remember her place, as my family and my sister of course, but she is not my master, and should she forget I will find it incumbent upon me to remind her, quite forcefully," Mr. Bingley said.


	17. Chapter 17

Sorry my loves for my extended absence - I've been working on a new book, that I'm tentatively titling A Ruined Engagement, that I should start posting here soon and will be on Amazon next month.

I hope you are well!

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The day dawned fair and bright, a distinct heat in the air that lent itself well to an open-carriage ride for the girls as they awayed to Meryton on errands for Mrs. Bennet. It was not often that all five girls were allowed out at once, and certainly not without the watchful eye of their mother, but as Elizabeth and Jane were on the cusp of perhaps wedding and womanhood, it was a special occasion.

Elizabeth did not mind the giddy attitude of her younger sisters, since the carriage let the sun pour down upon them as they jostled along the road, and their girlish shrieks were muffled somewhat by the foliage of the season.

Only Mary was quiet, as even Elizabeth and Jane were infected by a slight buzz of excitement over the coming ball at Netherfield. Mary sat up with the driver, while Lydia and Kitty giggled to each other and waved at passing carriages.

"Lydia, Kitty!" hissed Elizabeth as the two nearly toppled out of the carriage, so carried away they were with greeting another passing vehicle. "Your behavior is unseemly, and I will report on it to Mamma if you do not stop and sit properly. You both know how, so there is no reason for this display."

In return for her speech, she received two mulish looks from her youngest sisters. Jane gave a serene nod.

"It would not do to upset Mamma before the ball," Jane said, and although they all knew it was an empty threat, she continued, "what if she thought to bar you in your room, and refuse to let you go?"

"Oh she would not," Lydia exclaimed, but Kitty exchanged a nervous look with her and they both sat properly for the remainder of the ride. Elizabeth was grateful for Jane's quick thinking, although they both knew well that Mrs. Bennet would not keep any of her daughters from the social event of the season in Hertfordshire. Not when she hoped to have offers for them all before the eldest were on the shelf.

"We shall go round to the tailor's, and then after, the haberdasher," Jane said, laying out the orders of the day for them all. Their mother had been unable to attend with them since a fit of nerves had her confined to her bed, convalescing. In her stead, Jane would rule the pack of sisters, and ensure that all the necessary tasks were completed. Elizabeth privately thought that if Jane could organize them properly, she would make a more than adequate wife for Mr. Bingley because surely running a household was nothing in comparison to handling the Bennet sisters.

Especially since now that the two young Bennets were out of the carriage, they had noticed the great abundance of militia members who were wandering about Meryton.

"Officers!" gasped Lydia, pulling out her handkerchief to flutter it in the breeze at a passing trio of the young gentlemen. Elizabeth tried not to roll her eyes, and instead came up beside Lydia to box her in and shield her from view.

"Did you not want to look at ribbons?" she asked, diverting her sister from further embarrassing herself by making herself seem available to the attentions of the military men.

"Oh, why, yes, I did," Lydia said, attempting to look around Elizabeth's shoulders. Lizzy smiled and took Lydia's hand in hers, tugging her along.

"Well then, let's not tarry, just in case the circumstances in the tailor's are not to your preference, and we must think to seek additional ribbons elsewhere," Elizabeth urged Lydia along. Kitty trailed after her, and Mary, nose stuck stubbornly in a book, walked arm in arm with Jane.

Elizabeth neared the tailor's and would have opened the door, but a flash of red crossed her vision and a young gentleman appeared. He was fair, long-lashes surrounding his deep blue eyes as he pulled the door open for her with a kind smile.

"Miss," he said, with a short bow. He was handsome, that was for certain, and Elizabeth felt called to smile back when he smiled at her.

"Thank you, sir," she said, giving a small curtsey as she urged Lydia into the shop. Lydia, who was all giggles and smiles, forgot the gentleman for a moment at the sight of ribbons dangling about, and made her way to them immediately so that no one would precede her and take the particular finery she had her eye on. Jane and Mary followed, a low murmur coming from Mary that could not be quite made out.

Elizabeth found herself alone for only moments inside the shop, for the young soldier joined her, pausing at her elbow.

"If I could do the impertinent thing and ask to make your acquaintance, Miss?" he asked, his eyes roving over her face in a manner that felt appraising, but given the smile on his lips she thought he found her rather to his liking. That made her flush, and her pride blossomed no small amount.

"By all means, from time to time an impertinence may be called for, indeed it is a necessity. Only thing if we two were the only ones to meet in an emptied village, how would we become known to one another if there was none to introduce us?" she asked, and he laughed, his hand going to his chest. His rather broad chest, she thought to herself, sweeping her eyes low under her lashes as she tried to discretely admire him. She was not her little sisters, so easily taken in by a handsome uniform and an amiable face inclined to smile more than frown. Still, she had to admit to herself that the way this gentleman's shoulders pressed snugly into his jacket made her heart skitter somewhat.

"Since there is no one nearby who knows my character well and also knows yours, then I must introduce myself, under pain of unending rudeness for having come away from a lady without saying so much as a hello," he said with a sheer utter smoothness that she felt herself flush.

"That would absolutely not do, I would not forgive myself had allowed someone to suffer someone to be rude when it could be so easily prevented," she replied, and just as she thought he might not offer for her hand, her fingers fluttered out into the air just as he reached for her hand, bowing low over it.

"Mr. Wickham, at your service, Miss. . ."

"Miss Elizabeth Bennet, of Longbourn," she supplied and saw there was a quirk of his lips for a moment that quickly disappeared as he stood.

"A pleasure to make your acquaintance in the pretty Meryton. If all the ladies are quite so well turned out as you, I should say my stationing here will be to my liking."

Elizabeth felt the flush in her cheeks again and cleared her throat, allowing herself to pull out a drawer with a multitude of shell buttons in it. She sifted her fingers through them, the silky and rippled surface of them playing across her skin.

"Well the present company might exclude the very worst of us, but I might say that we are not the very best either, perhaps along the middling," she said with humility, thinking of some of Meryton's other beauties. Although Jane was easily the fairest of all the young ladies out in society as of yet in the surrounding areas of Hertfordshire, there were a few other young women who were considered pretty in their own right. Miss Watson was said to be a great beauty, and she resided in Bricket Wood, another young woman with no wealth except her face. She had relations in Meryton, and had visited but once or twice since coming out.

Still, Elizabeth didn't think this young man would chance across Miss Watson anytime soon.

"If you are the middling, then I do not think I should look any further, because my heart may stop beating right in my chest at the sight," Mr. Wickham said with a teasing smile. Elizabeth cursed her flushing cheeks for giving away her feelings so readily, but it was nice to be found attractive, and to be flirted with, especially after Mr. Darcy's comments. Still, she found herself somewhat wary, even feeling vaguely skittish. Mr. Hurst's actions had put a dull film of grime across the flirtations of the average, every-day man, and she felt as if she was mildly suspicious of Mr. Wickham's intentions. If they had been alone- she paused her thoughts there. They were not alone. She would not be alone with Mr. Wickham, not for any reason.

She had to focus on that, and withdrew from the drawer, three shell buttons she thought would go nicely with the capelet she had been sewing on at home. It was meant to be a winter's gift to Jane, although it was very possible it would be part of Jane's wedding trousseau instead. That thought was thrilling and saddening at the same time.

"May I ask the nature of your business today in town, Miss Elizabeth?" Wickham asked, drawing her out of her thoughts. She looked at him with a smile and was about to answer when Lydia and Kitty pranced back into the room, their fists full of ribbons and other finery that had caught their eye.

"Oh Lizzy, look, look-it this," Lydia exclaimed, crowding up under Elizabeth's arm, where it was outstretched and resting on the countertop surface. Elizabeth had to laugh at the lengths of delicately embroidered and woven ribbon that Lydia held.

"My, my, Lydia, how on earth are you going to pay for all this? You only need one ribbon for the ball, you've plenty at home already," Elizabeth said with a shake of her head. Kitty giggled behind one hand and then shot a sly look at Mr. Wickham, which Elizabeth took note of but chose not to remark upon. It helped that Mr. Wickham did not look back at Kitty, but instead leaned over to inspect the ribbon.

"What do you think?" Lydia asked him, fluttering her eyelashes in a pretty, affected fashion. Elizabeth felt a fizzle of irritation in her belly, and then slapped her hand down on the pile of ribbons.

"I think you should put them back, every one and all, except one. Did you even think to bring your pin money?" Elizabeth didn't want to seem the shrew in front of Mr. Wickham, but there was a line between impressing a flirtatious young soldier and not properly being a guiding hand to her younger sister. She would not let her mild (very mild) interest in Mr. Wickham stop he from helping Lydia practice a little self-restraint.

"Oh but that's not fair, see, these three, I cannot possibly decide between them," Lydia cried out, and was about to make further protestations when Mr. Wickham reached for his belt pouch.

"It should be quite unfair, were you to need to choose between all three," he said kindly as he produced a coin, holding it in the air for Lydia.

"On no," Elizabeth said, ready to turn back his generous offer but Lydia shrieked in delight and grabbed for the coin, dropping into a curtsey that would have been better placed in a throne room than a tailor's shop. Her littlest sister made quite the pretty picture, fair-cheeked with bright eyes, but when Elizabeth glanced at Mr. Wickham she noticed he spared not a single notice for Lydia. He was staring directly at her, a smile curling up the corner of her cheek.

Lydia, for her part, decided to get off with her spoils before Mr. Wickham had the chance to change his mind, and she dashed away with Kitty right behind her.

"That was very kind," Elizabeth murmured, as Mr. Wickham stepped closer.

"Would you do me a kindness in return?" he asked. She felt a flutter in her throat and needed to swallow hard to quell it.

"Depending on the nature of the kindness, my answer might be yes, but also could perhaps be no," she answered. He smiled at her wit, not put off as so many men frequently were.

"Would you allow me to call upon you?" he asked. She should not have been surprised, given the special attentions he was laying upon her, but part of her was taken aback anyway. "I have been too forward," he said instantly, but she shook her head.

"No, no, I am just overcome with the heat of the day and the looking after of my younger sisters," she replied. "Of course you may call. Our cook does a very good afternoon tea."

"I shall look forward to it, Miss Bennet," he said, and then held out his hand, taking hers. His fingers were warm, and as he bowed over her hand she felt her pulse racing along her skin, a crackle and spark a bit like she got from the barn cats in the middle of winter. "Until very soon," he said, with a tip of his head. He quit the tailor's shop and left her there, the three shell buttons biting into the soft palm of her hand where she clenched around them.


	18. Chapter 18

Thank so much for reading! I hope you like it so far :)

Just one request - I'm a human being with feelings and such, so if you feel the overwhelming need to leave me a negative review tomorrow for how I've chosen to interpret the values and behaviors of the day, please don't. I've got an MRI result coming in for a brain MRI, and I'm pretty scared, and just honestly can't handle 10+ comments about how I'm a terrible author for having the girls talk with the gentlemen by letter instead of through more appropriate channels.

I know it was "not done" in the day, but there's a lot of things "not done" in today's society that people still do if they can justify it to themselves.

I hope you'll find it in your heart to leave me a comment about something you like, or if there was nothing you liked at all, to just give me one chapter without telling me. I don't need to know how much you think I suck after what may be a heartbreaking day for me.

Thank you so much,

Nora

* * *

Very soon was apparently later that afternoon, as Mr. Wickham offered to escort them back to Longbourn so that he might know the way. Lydia exclaimed and carried on about his joining their party, putting her hand on his forearm as they walked, and he made a show of playing at walking her home although Elizabeth found his eyes were on her every time she looked.

He was most attentive, and Jane gave her a furtive little smile that only made the blush rise more readily in Elizabeth's cheeks. She knew what her older sister was thinking, and could not wait until the man had come and gone so they might discuss him at length, perhaps in the garden, or up in their room together as was their way of reporting on salacious little details.

As they passed by a bridge, they heard the thunder of hooves turning over sod, and as a group they looked up.

It was Jane's turn to gasp and turn a soft pink as Mr. Bingley came into view, kitted out on a fine horse of the deepest black, with nothing white upon it except one fetlock and a snip on its nose. Behind him another rider came up, although Elizabeth was too busy to take note of him for the moment, preferring to busy herself with watching Jane's face as she gazed upon Mr. Bingley.

Jane was a beauty most days, Elizabeth thought, but when she was around Mr. Bingley she was simply radiant. Sisterly affection had its very own way of masking (or amplifying) a multitude of sins, but Elizabeth felt firmly that Jane was the lightness and goodness in all things and it was not just the bond of their blood that had made it seem so. Surely Mr. Bingley, as taken as he seemed to be with Jane, felt the same.

When he lifted his hand in the air by way of greeting their partner, a brilliant smile lighting up his face, Elizabeth was sure he felt the same about Jane.

"Good afternoon," he said, smiling at them all, but his gaze kept flitting back to Jane. Lydia pulled off of Wickham's arm to wave frantically at Mr. Bingley.

"Mr. Bingley, oh Mr. Bingley, it's so good to see you," she called out, as if the whole world centered on her, and Mr. Bingley's sole interest might lay in addressing her directly. Kitty let out a burst of laughter and then fell quiet when Mary elbowed her sharply. Jane just shook her head and sighed. Mr. Bingley smiled down at Lydia and brought his horse to the edge of the water, the beast's flanks heaving from its hard run. The man behind him approached as well, his graying steed handsome in red-edged tack and blanket. When Elizabeth's eyes traveled up his person, she was surprised to see it was Mr. Darcy, equally handsome and well turned out as his horse, his eyes dark and inscrutable under the brim of his hat. He wasn't looking at her though; he was staring at Mr. Wickham. A look of intense distaste crossed his face, and that was when she overheard Lydia attempting to invite Mr. Wickham to Mr. Bingley's ball.

She gasped at the impertinence of their younger sister, and was about to hiss and make the girl apologize when she felt a heated stare searing her skin. She looked up to find Mr. Darcy turning his unpleasant mien on her, a look somewhat like betrayal flickering in his eyes. She fell quiet, in shock, at the anger on his face, and then inhaled sharply when he yanked on his horse's mouth in an almost unkind fashion, spurring the animal until the beast jumped away from Mr. Bingley's mount and broke into a gallop.

"Well, yes," Mr. Bingley concluded, looking over his shoulder at Mr. Darcy's retreating form, a puzzlement making his brow furrow. "I shall see you at the ball," he said with another confused if affable look, and then followed Mr. Darcy at a gallop as well.

Lydia giggled and waved, before spinning around in circles, her arms in the air.

"Oh I love a ball," she cried out. Jane rolled her eyes and looked at Elizabeth.

"As if she has so many with which to compare the experiences together," Jane said, before linking her arms with Elizabeth's and they continued along their path. Elizabeth laughed, but it was hollow and she felt confused and a little angered at the hot look Mr. Darcy had laid upon her. What had she done to him, in recent days, to cause him to glare at her so?

"Did you see Mr. Darcy?" Jane whispered, "The sun has surely set on his good day, I would think, given he looked like a thundercloud himself."

Behind them, Mr. Wickham cleared his throat, and both girls turned to look at him as they walked.

"I might have an idea as to that," he said with a reluctant smile, but his gaze traveled to the three young sisters, and his mouth shut tight. He did not want to speak of it in front of the younger girls; that much was clear. Elizabeth gave him a little nod, and linked her arm tighter with Jane's. They'd be home soon enough, and able to speak if he wished to then. Lydia would not be able to contain herself and would run inside to show their mother her purchases.

Sure enough, they lingered at the gate and Lydia grabbed Kitty's hand and tugged her inside, both of them galloping as quickly as Mr. Darcy had. Mary gave a brief curtsey to Mr. Wickham and followed her sisters at a more staid pace, while Jane stepped just into the garden and made a fuss over some of the blossoms that grew there. She was fond of tending to plants, and had her own corner of the garden where she cultivated some very pretty roses, all the size of a thumbnail, that liked to crawl and climb across an arched fence that had been built for her use.

Mr. Wickham smiled at Elizabeth, and she felt the hot thrill of being attended to by an attractive young man. It did her vanity, still bruised and bewildered in equal parts by Mr. Darcy and Mr. Hurst, some healing good to be under the sunshine of Mr. Wickham's attentions.

"You had wondered at Mr. Darcy's reception of our small party?" he asked, twisting his fingers through a length of ribbon he carried for her. The pretty blue silk fluttered in the breeze.

"It was most peculiar, although I think Mr. Darcy to be somewhat of a peculiar man in habits and mannerisms, so perhaps it was not odd for him," she said, and then felt a pang of guilt. Had he not rescued her? Surely she owed her benefactor the kindness of not speaking so poorly of him. She tried not to think on it. Mr. Wickham stepped just a half-pace closer, and she noticed he had a smatter of freckles across his nose, the work of the sun no doubt. It served to set his skin off in a most charming way, she thought idly.

"Yes, but this is not a case of Mr. Darcy's peculiarities," he said with a rueful smile. "It was very possible that it was my presence that gave such offense to Mr. Darcy, as we have crossed the words if not the swords in the past," he paused for a moment and she felt the urgent need to know more, and found her hand clutching itself rather tightly around the cloth bag she had brought for the purpose of their shopping.

"You? But what could you have done to so offend him? You are a foot soldier, not to denigrate your service, Mr. Wickham," she said adding the last bit quickly. He tipped his head to her to show he'd taken no offense.

"It is not a long tale, but it took place over many years," he said, and then offered her his arm. "Come, let us walk the pretty garden of Longbourn. Your sister is most attentive to her roses, and I should see what captures her attention while I tell you."


	19. Chapter 19

Hello my lovelies,

I just wanted to say a huge thank you for all the kind notes, prayers, and comments I received over the last two days. I got really, really sick in 2016, and was bed-ridden for months, all on account of real-life stress and having a (thankfully benign) little brain tumor. The MRI I had earlier in the week was to check to make sure it wasn't growing, and happily, it looks like it isn't which is AWESOME. But I was pretty terrified as this was the first follow-up scan I had, and was sorta the time for them to see "is it displaying cancerous behavior or not" moment, and I'd been having terrible headaches, so... yeah, needless to say, Nora was pretty scared going into her doctor's office yesterday afternoon! But my doctor says that no suspicious signs have been seen, so I'm likely to just have a regular, normal, pain-in-the-head-but-won't-kill-me brain friend. I've got some follow up blood tests to do, and if those are clear as well, I'm good for another year without any scans, so crossing my fingers because I do not want to be in another MRI tube for at least 12 months. Blech! I'm sure some of you can appreciate how annoying/claustrophobic those things are.

Anyway... wow, just the outpouring of love and affection from you lovely amazing folks brought me to (happy) tears. I don't think I'm the best writer. I'm not amazing, and I believe that I have a long, long way to go. My stories never quite come out how I imagine them in my head, and I'm doing my best to write as great a tale as I can. I do a lot of historical research, but sometimes you need to fudge things a little because we're all used to reading certain etiquette in JAFF that didn't actually exist yet (such as seating-order precedence was apparently a Victorian invention, and the Regency dining crowds descended upon the supper table as polite mob, but still, a mob)... or for instance, I don't exactly want to be writing about dear Elizabeth Bennet hiking up her skirts to relieve herself on the side of a country road (which there is artwork and satire cartoons from the day depicting fine ladies doing just that! Oh my!). I try to balance "what would have actually happened back then" with a bit of "what is fun for the reader and moves the story along". Mostly I think I do an okay job. I promise I am trying to do an even better job, and if I'm having Elizabeth break the rules of her society from time to time, well... I think she was a pretty incredible young lady and did what she thought was right. She was stubborn and head-strong and willful and that's why I fell in love with her as a character. So I have a tendency to write her on a bit of the wild-side sometimes.

But one thing is true about me: I really care about you having fun with these stories. Yes I'm publishing them on Amazon, but you will always be able to read the full version on here because I don't believe money should get in the way of you loving Jane Austen and the derivative works that we lucky people get to write. I want you to have fun, and enjoy yourself, and I hope that my little story can take you away from the stress of every day life and give you a place to relax and just... forget. I used writing to help myself heal last year, and one of the ways I was able to recover with very little medical intervention was finding JAFF and beginning to write it. JAFF, quite literally, saved my life, and I wouldn't be here with you, and your kindness and your comments. I have another 2 full-length novels half-written that I'm working away at right now, as well as about another 6 outlined that I am dying to dive into and write... I have more stories to tell about Darcy and Elizabeth, and not barely enough time to write them.

So what I am trying to say, in an incredibly long-winded, silly way is: thank you. Thank you for your comments, and your prayers and your kindness. Thank you for understanding if Lizzy and Jane are a bit naughty and write love-letters to their crushes against the demands of their society. Thank you for reading. Thank you for forgiving me small typos and spelling mistakes - I don't always catch everything as I am far from perfect. Thank you for loving Jane Austen probably more than me. Thank you for just being here. It means a lot to me, as a silly little girl writing her silly little stories, that people she doesn't even know would care to read, and then on top of that, offer her compassion and kindness when she's going through a bad time.

So thank you. I hope I can write lots more for you to enjoy, and you won't be too upset with me when I have Elizabeth do something really naughty in the future! Meep!

Lots of love

Nora

* * *

Elizabeth slept ill that night and woke in the morning feeling most foul and out of sorts. To think that Mr. Darcy had on one hand helped her, pulling her out of the muck and mire, and with the same hand had surely squashed Mr. Wickham back down into it! She had remarked to Mr. Wickham that Mr. Darcy had assisted her in a recent matter with no thought to his own reward, and Mr. Wickham had given her a most daring look.

Jane was just out of earshot, but not out of sight, or perhaps Mr. Wickham might not have been so bold as to say it.

"Forgive me, Miss Elizabeth," he murmured under his breath, "but you are most diverting, and having grown up with the man, he is often planting seeds of favor with the most beautiful of young women so that he may one day call those favors back in an intimate fashion."

That had made her flush red, and she had been almost so mortified that Mr. Wickham nearly fell over himself to apologize for speaking so bluntly to her.

Mr. Darcy, in saving her reputation might seek later to play upon her gratitude by asking a return of favor in a most inappropriate and carnal way! The thought had made her toss and turn throughout her night, and more than once Jane had muttered a sleepy protest or grumbled at Elizabeth for being all thrashing elbows and knees.

Intimate fashion… She had walked in on more than one kitchen maid getting kissed by a pert footman or hostler, and so she was no exact stranger to some of the going's on between men and women. Certainly an astute little girl who crept unnoticed about the rooms of Longbourn could overhear things she wasn't meant to have heard, but none of it made much sense to her back when she was younger and it certainly made no more sense now that she was in the peak of her womanhood as a young lady. The thought of Mr. Darcy taking her by the hand, pinning her up against the wall to kiss her, or grabbing at her as Mr. Hurst had, gave her a sick little thrill in her belly that she wished would subside.

The whole thing was rather horrifying, and she then had one more thought, in the back of her mind that perhaps Mr. Darcy knew of Mr. Hurst's proclivities as a despoiler of maidenly women, and had haunted the doorway of the library waiting for the right moment to step in and be her savior… from the darkness of Mr. Wickham's telling, Mr. Darcy's character was so unknown to her that she had trouble not worrying about that particular thought being the truth of the matter.

But then why send off Mr. Hurst and act so gallantly towards her? No, no, it was all a part of who he was, to stock up favors that he might one day call back-

That final thought had greeted her upon rising, after she had awoken from her one brief period of rest in which a terrible dream had come over her, where Mr. Hurst and Mr. Darcy had become one singular horrific man with pinching, claw-like fingers…

"Lizzy?" Jane had just finished washing her face, and was patting it dry with a well worn linen towel. Her skin was rosy-fresh and pink, and she smiled although Elizabeth could tell her sister was worried. Lizzy pushed her hair out of her eyes and combed it back from her face; the extra strands had come out of her braid during her night-time thrashings.

"It's a good morning, is it not?" Elizabeth asked, getting to her feet. "Did you ring for the maid?"

"Lizzy, did you even sleep a wink last night? I could barely, from all your moving around and muttering," Jane did not even sound mildly cross, but altogether concerned instead.

"I'm fine," Elizabeth said, moving across the room to look out the windows. The view from their room poured out upon Longbourn's back gardens and the rest of its park, and Elizabeth felt that nothing would cure her head but a long walk. "I think I'm for the stream this morning," she said, pushing the window open to inhale a thick chestful of fresh air. Behind her Jane sighed.

"If you must, but I had hoped you would help me with my dress for the ball," she said, for the gown had been delivered in the evening just the day before, and was perfect all but for a few spots where Jane had lost a slight amount of weight.

"Would you mind, I will help you as soon as I return, but I find I must collect myself," Elizabeth said with a pleading expression on her face. Jane made an odd grimace for a moment.

"Please just tell me you don't mean to meet up with Mr. Wickham unaccompanied," Jane blurted out, and then bit her lip. "I apologize for thinking wrongly of you, Lizzy, but he seemed quite forward and you two quite close after knowing one another for less than a day made up of the hours altogether!"

Lizzy blinked and then smiled, because that idea had not even chanced across her mind one little bit.

"No no, that is not it, although did you really think we were close?" Lizzy wrapped a dressing gown around her, pulling it tight against her figure and walked to the long mirror that had served them well, even spotted with age as the silvering was. Too slender, altogether, she thought, and not having Jane's womanly curves. Her face was far too angular, not rounded and sweet at Jane's was or even Lydia's. Dark eyes, a forbidding set of eyebrows that pulled together when she frowned, skin browned and dappled from too much time in the sun- and lips, lips at least that were the color of bruised raspberries, dark in the heat of summer. That was one small thing that won her points she supposed as she looked at herself.

"He seemed as if he wished to be closer. He is coming to call, then?" Jane asked as the maid knocked on the door and then entered with a murmured 'good morning miss', and a curtsey.

"He said as much, but I will see him at the ball, first, perhaps, if he does not get leave to come away," Elizabeth replied, before looking away from the mirror. It did her no favors, and she would not stare at it any longer the length of time in looking would not change facts. She was no rosy beauty like Jane, milk-skinned with the perfect pink in the cheeks. She sat and allowed the maid to tend to her hair, seeing it flick of her shoulder. Her hair was not golden, but at least it had some glints of flax and bronze in it from the sun. It was a trade off, she supposed, for her pale skin had been traded for extra color in her normally nut-brown hair.

"You shall have to send him an invitation, or Mamma might have fits at it, certainly if he is not your guest then Lydia will try for him, bold as she is," Jane observed, more frank than usual, and Elizabeth put her short manner down to the lack of sleep they'd both suffered from.

Jane smiled at the maid though, never one to take a bad attitude out on the staff that attended them so kindly, and Elizabeth finished her toilette staring again into the mirror and brushing her thumb across her lower lip, wondering what it would it be like if Mr. Darcy kissed her. She shoved that thought away violently, surprised that it had popped up at all, and went downstairs to breakfast.

The noise of her sisters eating filled her mind, and she wondered if she might not escape out of doors for some small time, to clear herself of the nightmares. As soon as she was able, she nipped out the back gate and went for a hearty tramp across the fields.

Elizabeth's walk proved very useful in curing the malaise that infected her thoughts, and she was better for the rest of the day and well into the next. Mr. Wickham had come to call on the third day, but he was much monopolized by Lydia and Kitty that all Lizzy could do was laugh at his funny tales of the military and his fellow soldiers. Still, she caught him smiling at her in stolen, private moments, his blue eyes alive with interest as he took her in.

When they said goodbye, he brushed a kiss over the back of her hand so quickly and softly she rather thought she'd imagined it as he strode down the path to the road that would take him back to Meryton.


	20. Chapter 20

Happy Wednesday my lovelies! It's summer, it's boiling hot, and life is good. Thank you, thank you, thank you for your kind thoughts and words over the last few days. You've absolutely made my days brighter when I open up my email to see your lovely reviews and sweet words.

I hope you like this next chapter of Shadows! Only... 29ish chapters left to go :O Oh my!

\- Nora

* * *

"Do you still mean to offer for her?" Mr. Darcy asked as Mr. Bingley and he broke their fast. Despite the lack of sleep owing to preparations for the ball, they still breakfasted together as if they had enjoyed a good night's rest. Miss Bingley had retired to her rooms in the early hours of the morning, and would likely not be up before the sun set if any preparation for past events such as the recent one were to go by.

"She is such a delight, Darcy," Mr. Bingley said with great enthusiasm as he dug into a thick porridge of hearty oats, laid over with a fried egg. It was a peculiarity of recipe that had been left over from his father in trade, who ate such a meal each morning before he had gone off to make his fortune. Mr. Bingley was fond of it, and it seemed to keep him well so Darcy was not one to dismiss his choice of morning foodstuffs.

"That is not an answer, Bingley," Darcy said with a sigh, and with his own fork he toyed with his breakfast more than ate it. Mr. Bingley hummed, a thoughtful little noise and then looked out the windows to the park beyond them.

"I think it is much too soon, I would like to know her better, although I must be honest she is altogether wonderful in every way, and the prettiest woman I have ever seen."

"And her family? Are they too, wonderful in every way?" Darcy asked, not able to keep the sarcastic drawl out of his tone. Mr. Bingley shot him an evil look before spooning up more oatmeal.

"A man does not matter his wife's family."

"But a man must keep with them, and include them in his society for the rest of his life," Darcy shot Bingley's argument down. The other man sighed, and gave him a winning smile back, ever still positive despite the seriousness of their conversation.

"You sound like my sisters," Bingley said. Darcy laid his fork down and stared at his friend.

"Pray, take it back," he said with protest. Bingley just smirked and spooned some more oatmeal into his mouth, remaining silent. Darcy growled under his breath and grabbed a roll of fine white bread, slathering it over with butter. "Remind me to set you up with the worst of the matchmaking mothers, the next assembly," he muttered. Bingley snickered in a most un-gentleman-like fashion.

"I perhaps will be off the market, my dear bachelor friend, and you will take your turn with every eligible lady, whether you find her suitable or not. I will demand it of you, as a gift to me on the event of my nuptials."

Darcy knew that Bingley would hold true to his promise, for although Bingley was an affable, genial sort, he also had a mischievous streak a mile wide, and was prone to intolerable pranks when he felt Darcy could do with a bit of having his ego poked at.

"Unpleasant man," Darcy said and Bingley chortled to himself as they finished their breakfast.

"You will dance with Miss Bennet's sister, Miss Elizabeth, tonight," Mr. Bingley said after a few minutes of silence stretched out between the two men. Darcy sighed, feeling as if this issue should have been put to bed.

"Why would I do such a thing?"

"Because you, dear sir, owe me a boon after I sent off my sister and her husband in the dark of the night with not so much as a question why," Mr. Bingley settled himself in his chair as he spoke and gave Darcy a forbidding look. It wasn't often that Mr. Bingley got his own self set on an idea, but when he had mind to exercise his backbone, he would do so until the end of time.

Darcy thought on it a moment. To be near Miss Elizabeth for even a moment was too long, and he did not wish to brush his hand against hers, to smell the sweet scent of her hair as she and he danced.

"I will not," he said simply.

"You will," Mr. Bingley replied, then smacked his hand down on the table. "Darcy, I tolerate your moods because of our good friendship, but I have invited the Bennets to our ball and I would not see Miss Elizabeth sat by herself the entire time for want of a gentleman to dance with."

"And I should give consequence to a woman who has been slighted by other men?" Darcy asked, feeling a tumultuous rumble in his belly. He was doing no kindness to Miss Elizabeth, for if he had to be truly honest he only wished to be as far from her as possible because he found her so utterly, and completely, captivating and tempting. But she was dangerous, so very dangerous, in that she had foolishly left her room without appropriate chaperone in the middle of the night. True, he blamed Mr. Hurst soundly for his abominable behavior towards the girl. He mulled over that thought as Bingley sighed and finished his breakfast, letting his spoon drop down into the bowl with a clatter.

"You will dance with her," he said curtly. Darcy knew there was no getting out of it.

"The first set," he agreed. Mr. Bingley scowled at him, a most fearsome look from a man who so rarely gave a bad glance to any person.

"The dinner set," Mr. Bingley countered. Mr. Darcy gritted his teeth.

"I must lodge my complaints most determinedly," Mr. Darcy said in protest.

"Then lodge them," Mr. Bingley said as he stood, a flap of his hand. "We will consider your debt paid fully if you dance the dinner set with her, and report to me the next day a varied account of her interests and the nature of your conversation with her during the meal." Mr. Bingley's glare turned into an irreverent smirk. "Or I shall have to tell my sister how charming you found her dress at the assembly."

Mr. Darcy coughed and calmed his features into a more regal mien. It would not do to be always scowling at his closest friend.

"Very well. I shall bore you with a recounting of Miss Elizabeth's talk of lace and silk, then, Bingley, since you so insist upon knowing every detail. I shall also keep count of the number of sighs she gives, the glances over her shoulder, and the flicks of her fan. Will that satisfy you?" he asked, throwing down his serviette and standing.

"I will be most satisfied, my dear Mr. Darcy," Bingley said, and it was clear that the younger man was barely holding back a gut-ripping chortle.

"Should your chase of Miss Bennet not prove fruitful," Darcy said, paying no mind to the thud of his heart in his chest, "I shall have to set upon you the youngest and silliest of the Bennet daughters, and let slip to their mother that you find young Miss Lydia most charming."

Bingley gave him a look of horror and then quit the room without more than a,

"Some friend! Some friend indeed!"


	21. Chapter 21

Hello my loves! A happy Thursday to you, and I hope everything is well in your parts of the world.

It is hot here, and the sky is overcast with smoke from the annual summer forest fires. 'Tis the season and all that.

Thank you again for the lovely and instructive comments - one in particular I wanted to address but it was from an anon/guest so I couldn't send them a message directly. There is a mistake in this manuscript when I make note that Kent is north of Hertfordshire. That is absolute my silliness, and I must confess, I was probably exhausted when I looked at the map, and mumbled to myself that no, no Kent is definitely north of Hertfordshire when it is in fact, not.

My husband is from England, and when I told him, he stared at me, snickered, and went off to make tea. Uncharitable gentleman.

Mostly, when I deviate from canon, it's by conscious choice (in this, I wanted to make Lizzy innocent of London and the _ton_ , so I wrote that she'd never been, although she only lives about a day's carriage ride or so away), but in the case of plopping Kent up north... nope, I have to admit it: I was wrong and I hope you can forgive me my poor geography.

Today was spent researching bathing habits and regency undergarments for my second book that I'm working on - do you, or do you not think that Mr. Darcy was an avid bather? I would rather imagine that he was. ;) Your opinion?

With lots of love,

Nora

* * *

Then the morning of the ball came to the Bennet household, and Elizabeth's thoughts turned back to Mr. Darcy. He would be there, she was sure of it, although Wickham had also promised he would as well, and had even been so bold as to ask her for a dance before the event had even started.

That Mr. Wickham would be there to shield her from Mr. Darcy made her feel much better, and her stomach was all a-flutter as they loaded into the phaeton. All the girls were in a giddy mood, and their mother was of no-mind to hush them. Mr. Bennet sat ahead with their driver, of no mind to the propriety or impropriety nature of it, as he said he was not going to be assaulted by all manners of shrieks and giggling on the trip to Netherfield.

Elizabeth for once did not mind the noise, but the sound of her sisters just added to the turmoil and frenzy that were twisting in her gut. She held onto Jane's hand, their white kid-gloves entwining as their fingers did, and she spoke not a word the entire trip there.

When they entered, she found herself faced with Caroline Bingley immediately, and she curtsied in greeting. Caroline eyed her dress with a half-smile, and curtsied in return, a barely-there movement that seemed to be a comment on Elizabeth's dress and the lack of mode it showed more than anything else.

Behind her, Jane stopped to say hello to Mr. Bingley, and Elizabeth knew her sister would linger. Instead, Elizabeth ducked into the grand house, marveling at the press of people and the sheer numbers of local society that had been invited. Local society, and some of higher as well, for there was a party of people definitely from London, although from a quick look Elizabeth did not see Mr. or Mrs. Hurst in attendance. That left her with some relief and she looked again for Mr. Wickham.

She felt as if she had walked around the rooms four times already when she realized he was not in sight. Perhaps she had missed him, perhaps he was a few paces behind her and they had been walking at the same pace, in the same direction this entire time?

She turned and nearly bumped into Miss Charlotte Lucas, who smiled and greeted her old friend with much enthusiasm.

"Lizzy, your dress," Charlotte said quietly, giving her an admiring look. "It suits you so well, and the cut extremely well also." Charlotte smoothed a hand down over her own dress, a fine muslin embroidered along the sleeves and hem. It was a plain gown but elevated from the decorations that had been worked into it, decorations that Elizabeth suspected came from Charlotte's own hand. She was accomplished with embroidery, and was also of the mind to practice good economy since she was nearly seven and twenty, past the age of receiving offers, and was most definitely a burden to her parents with the cost of her keep. She would not ask for fine dresses when the money would be wasted upon her, unlike that of her younger sister Maria who was still looking forward to offers in the future.

"Thank you, and goodness Charlotte, those flowers, they must have caused someone to go blind just to create them," Elizabeth said, bending close to examine what looked like rows of white blossoms and delicate knots floating on the fabric. "Say, but have you heard if a young man from the militia, a Mr. Wickham, is here in attendance?" She looked around the room again but Charlotte shook her head.

"I have not, but I have not been the room over and over, so maybe we shall go and find your Mr. Wickham, at some point?" Charlotte asked, and then slipped her arm around Elizabeth's. "Oh look!" Charlotte flicked open her fan in the direction of a set of dancers. "Jane is dancing with Mr. Bingley. They make such a handsome pair." There was a wistful but lovely smile on Charlotte's face, and Elizabeth was of the mind that even if Charlotte was not quite handsome and considered plain, that her smile transformed her from a woman that one might take no notice of, to a woman that one could not ignore. She still held hope that someone would offer for Charlotte, so Charlotte could grow old and wise and be a formidable matriarch in her late years.

They looked again for Mr. Wickham after watching Jane and Mr. Bingley dance for a little longer, and had all but given up hope when they rounded a corner and nearly ran into one Mr. Darcy.

He stood there, like a rod stuck into the ground, and stared at Elizabeth with so heavy an expression she thought she might stop breathing right in that instant. Charlotte recovered quickly and curtsied, dragging Elizabeth with her. Mr. Darcy bowed, not in any perfunctory manner, but in a move of respect.

"Miss Elizabeth," he said, never taking his eyes from her face. "Might I ask you for the pleasure of a dance once this set is done?"

She swallowed hard, a feeling like a tremble in her chest.

"I thought you did not dance?" she blurted out and then regretted it, for his expression flinched for a moment.

"I do when the occasion calls for it," he said plainly, and with no further explanation. Charlotte's fingers grabbed hers, hidden behind their skirts where their dresses brushed each other.

"And does the occasion call for it then?" Elizabeth asked boldly, tilting her to one side. Mr. Darcy looked about the room.

"Yes," he said, "perhaps it is just that the moon is in the right position in the sky now," he drawled, raw humor in his voice. Then he straightened his shoulders, apparently shocked at his own words. "Will you dance with me then?"

"Yes," she said, forgetting herself in amusement at his little joke and then the way he'd seemed taken aback that he had even made it. Mr. Darcy nodded.

"Very good, I will find you at the start of the next set," he said, and then Charlotte tugged on her hand and they melted into the crowd, leaving Mr. Darcy behind. They ran, a little bit overcome and hysterical from the short conversation until they were far away, tucked around a corner and in a shadowed recessed part of the wall where might have stood some statue at some point.

"I've agreed to dance with Mr. Darcy, the detestable, and for the dinner set as well," Elizabeth gasped out, looking at Charlotte in confusion and horror.

"Oh my, yes, yes I believe you did," Charlotte said, pressing her closed fan to her lips. "But Elizabeth, you're shaking," she exclaimed then hushed herself, looking around to see if anyone had overheard them.

"I cannot help it, for…" Elizabeth paused and decided it was better not to bring the topic of Mr. Wickham and Mr. Darcy's relationship up. There were too many people about, and she did not want to tempt fate as Mr. Darcy had done and speak ill only for the subject of her conversation to be right there.

"Is it his ten thousand a year that gives you those tremors?" Charlotte asked, although they both knew that Elizabeth was not cowed by money in such a fashion.

"Maybe he will think that, I am sure, for a poor country Miss as myself must be awed by those of such vast fortune!" Elizabeth laughed in spite of herself and then heard the music from the current set concluding. Charlotte squeezed her hands gently.

"I will wish you luck, but I hardly think you need it. Let him think you overcome, and he will leave you be, for he would not take interest in a girl who shakes at the very thought of even dancing with him!"


	22. Chapter 22

Goodness, the heat is finally starting to break over here, but no end to the smoke from the forest-fires, unfortunately.

In some other news, I've updated my website (it's just norakipling with a dot and a com), listing all my books. I'm thinking of adding some fun stuff on there about regency times.

Now that Shadows is completed, I've started working on what was supposed to be a short-story about ODC, but it's sort of grown... it's now at 67,000 words and counting, with no end in sight. In it, Mr. Darcy gets wind of Elizabeth's engagement to Mr. Collins (I decided to do a variation where she discarded Mr. Darcy's letter and did not read it at Hunsford), and he races to stop the wedding. Anyway, I had such good intentions on it being a simple little short I could post here, but Mr. Darcy decided that was Not Acceptable and nothing would do but for me to write him a full book about how he would win Elizabeth's hand.

Who am I to disagree with Mr. Darcy? He is, after all, quite insistent.

I think I will begin posting this new book in a few more days, so you can give me your feedback!

Love,

Nora

* * *

Lizzy's heart beat in her chest like a herd of horses startled in the field. She took to the floor, lining up with Mr. Darcy. He watched her with his own dark, inscrutable eyes, his brow quizzical as ever. Indeed, he seemed to look right through her and for a moment she had a flash of one of her dreams, where he took her hands in his and pressed her up against a wall of books, a mirror, a door, and kissed her.

She inhaled as the music began and hoped he could not see the thoughts on her very expression as they began to move through the steps of the dance.

It was to her great surprise that he danced, indeed incredibly well for a man who told her once that he did not like to dance. She had thought to look for Mr. Wickham, as she turned away from Mr. Darcy and exchanged a reel with another gentleman before finding herself once again hand-in-hand with Mr. Darcy.

She was under his steady observation, she felt, for his eyes hardly left her for a breath, and she wondered what he could possibly be thinking. She ventured a comment upon the dance, anything to get herself out from under his pinpoint scrutiny,

"This is a most elegant dance to be engaged in, do you not think?" she asked with a delicate tilt of her head towards him, so she might hear even the quietest of responses. He cleared his throat.

"Yes, it is that," he agreed and then was quiet again. His hand was warm on hers as he held it by just the barest touch, right on the edge between civility and distance. She could not say if he did not want to appear improper, or if he did not wish to hold her hand at all, and her heart was quite confused by it. If he had not wished to dance with her, then why had he asked?

Several minutes passed by in silence, as the music and chatter of couples around them filled the air. His touch on hers was a burning mark, and she felt it most keenly. She needed something, anything, to quiet her mind and soften the steady beat of her fluttering heart. She hoped for a glimpse of Mr. Wickham to save her, but none came. She licked her lips and tried again,

"The room is beautiful. I can see Miss Bingley's touch in the decorations for the evening," she ventured. Mr. Darcy nodded his head silently at that. She felt the urge to stamp her foot in frustration, and did not, although it was a close thing. "It is your turn, Mr. Darcy, to say something. I might suggest, if you lack a subject to land upon, you might mention now the size of the room, or perhaps even the number of couples. I have commented on the appropriateness of the dance, and the pretty decorations, so those topics are right out." Her words may have been impertinent, but to her shock a smile flickered across Mr. Darcy's lips before disappearing.

"If that is as you wish it, then the room is quite large, and there are a charming amount of couples to fill it," he said, and then went quiet once more. A huff of frustration filled her lungs at his refusal to engage her in proper discourse as was necessary to pass a dance such as the one they were in.

"An adequate reply, I suppose, that will do for now. I will remain silent for a time, but in a short while I will comment upon the fact I find private balls to be much more pleasant than those given to the general public. However at this point, you may remain silent with no harm to your reputation for it," she replied. A surge in the music had Mr. Darcy coming close, so very close, and she heard his murmured words all the way down her spine,

"Do you talk by rule, then, while you are dancing?"

She looked up at him, her lips parted, for there was a heat in his voice that belied his normally superior and indifferent countenance.

"Sometimes," she whispered, and then he was away again as the dance called for it. What had he meant, by rule? She so often chafed at the rules their society placed on her and her sisters, but there she was, imploring him to talk as the rules dictated they must. Was it some slight against her he made, that she should observe these rules here on the dance floor, when she had totally disregarded the ones that bade her to stay in her room that night not too long ago when she had visited just floors above the one she was dancing on now?

A heat suffused her cheeks and down her neck. Mr. Darcy studied her even still, although his expression was not one she could easily determine the meaning of. It was not pity, nor was it rebuke. He looked perhaps thoughtful, and also… could it be intrigue as well? She looked away with a sharp inhalation of breath and was grateful as the dance came to a close.

She lifted her hands up to applaud her partner, the musicians, the other dancers, and found his arm bumping up against her hand so she might rest her fingers there.

"I am to be your partner at dinner, if we are to dine by rule as well as we danced by rule," he said. She looked up at him and was caught again by the intense look in his gaze. She swallowed and nodded.

"I would be nothing, if not for rules," she said. His mouth gave a funny little quirk, and he walked her towards the dining hall.

"Miss Elizabeth, I do not believe that anything could be quite further from the truth when it comes to you," he said, his tone mysterious and not unkind.

Dinner passed slowly, and the conversation between them moved even slower. They were saved from a stilted series of courses by their neighbors on all sides who spoke of the ton, the fashion, the ball itself, although Elizabeth would have rather liked to hear news from the continent, that was not considered a polite conversation in front of so many ladies.

When they finally rose to return to the dancing, Mr. Darcy escorted her back and left her at the edge of the floor with a bow and a murmured thank you. His back was straight as he turned, walking away. Immediately Charlotte was at her side, and they squirreled themselves away in another dark recess to go over all the events of the evening.


	23. Chapter 23

The rest of the ball passed in a blur of dances, gossiping with Charlotte, and admiring Jane as she danced set after set with Mr. Bingley. Mrs. Bennet was incomparably happy, and every time that Elizabeth went near her, she could overhear her mother talking to whoever would listen that the family expected a proposal any day. Elizabeth only hoped her mother was right, and that Mrs. Bennet did not raise up Jane's dreams only to have them come crashing down again. Mr. Bingley had not announced his intention to court Jane, and a few dances were not enough to know the true measure of a man.

 _But a dance and a few words were enough for you to know the measure of Mr. Darcy?_ The thought came to her unbidden as she stood in the hallway, watching a flurry of dancers parade past the door. She sighed to see the floating white gowns, the flowers and feathers pinned up into the elaborate hairstyles of the ladies. The view was stunning, set against the backdrop of the gilt and cream walls of Netherfield's grand rooms.

Lydia and Kitty went skittering past, giggling, and she turned to scold them for behaving so, but they were too quick for her and in another moment they were gone. She turned back to watch the dancing again, only to come face-to-face with a footman carrying a large tray of drinks.

She gasped, he cursed. His boot became fouled in the long fine fabric of her dress, and for a moment the world seemed to stop as his tray teetered in his hands. A cascade of drink, port by the looks of it, splashed down the front of her gown, and she felt the cold of it bite right through to her underthings.

To her credit, she would think later, she did not scream as the man fell to his knees almost immediately, prostrating himself in apology. She looked down at the ruined dress, and gulped back a lungful of air as she dripped port all over the fine polished floors.

"Oh my goodness, Miss Eliza," the very last person she might wish to see, Caroline Bingley, appeared like a bad apparition in the doorway. Miss Bingley eyed the length of Elizabeth's dress and tutted quietly. The footman scrambled to his feet, collecting the shattered crystal glasses as best he could.

"I…" Elizabeth struggled to find something to say, but Miss Bingley crowded in on her, cutting off her view of the people in the doorway who strained to have a look.

"Quickly, let's upstairs. My maid will help you out of those things, and I shall have a look to see if there is something that will suit you out of my wardrobe. It won't be to the taste of the evening, but it is better to be ill-clothed than clothed in wine, is it not?" Miss Bingley gave a tinkling little laugh, and Elizabeth felt her cheeks blushing hard.

"Thank you, Miss Bingley," she said quietly, picking up the edges of her skirts so as to not drip further. She ascended the staircase as proudly as she could, head held high, Miss Bingley right in front of her. She found herself ushered into a guest apartment, similar to the one she had occupied when Jane had been ill. Miss Bingley did not hover, but said that her maid would be in shortly to help her undress and change into something new. The evening might not be ruined after all.

The wetness was cloying and sticking to her skin, and Elizabeth shivered for several minutes before reaching around to undo the buttons of her dress. Bitter tears stung at her eyes, for she was not sure they would be able to get the stains out of the dress, and the expensive gown was likely ruined. A single candle burnt above the fireplace, casting shadow and making her unsure of how badly the fabric was marked.

She had the dress down to her ankles, and was pushing her petticoats down as well because they were also soaked through with the strong-smelling alcohol, when the door opened. The maid! Relief flooded through her at the thought of getting into warm, dry clothing. She stood there in her pantalettes and a simple shift of fine, transparent muslin, her skin goose-pimpled from the chill of the unheated room.

"Bingley, what game do you mean to play? I swear to you, you have me chase you across the entire house from one end to the other, and then you have me come up here-" Mr. Darcy stopped mid-sentence as he stalked into the room, his eyes going wide as he took in the state of her undress.

The sight of him did cause her to finally shriek, and she turned, running around the corner of the tall, postered bed, pulling the curtains that would normally shelter a sleeper around her own body.

"Miss Elizabeth," Mr. Darcy stuttered her name out, and then he turned, his shoulders set straight, his head high.

"What are you- what are you doing in here?!" she cried out.

"I apologize, I have come to the wrong room, I was expecting someone else," he said curtly, and then moved toward the door. Before he could, Elizabeth heard the sing-song of a maid in the hallway, and then an older woman swept in with a dress over one arm, petticoats in the other. She nearly ran into Mr. Darcy, and she stepped back in surprise.

"Mr. Darcy, sir," she bobbed a quick curtsey, and then her eyes fell on Elizabeth behind him. Her mouth popped into a round 'o', and Elizabeth felt like she had been drenched all over again. Panic flared up in her chest, and she made a noise in the back of her throat, one of censure, and she wished to have the words to explain that it was not as it looked-

Mr. Darcy growled out before Elizabeth could protest,

"What is the meaning of this?"

The maid stared up at him and then looked again to Elizabeth before she shook her head in alarm.

"I-I was not expecting you here, sir, I was just to bring a dress for the young miss," she fumbled over her words, "you was not to be in here, it was not to be you, I mean… oh I must tell my mistress." Before either Mr. Darcy or Elizabeth could say another word, the maid fled. Darcy reached out a hand as if to grab her, but fell short.

Behind him Elizabeth made a small noise of distress. That seemed to settle him, for he half-turned, not looking at her, but so she could see the side of his face.

"The word of this will be across the ball in minutes," he said with a dark tone to his voice. Her heart sank. She knew that to be true. She would descend the stairs a thoroughly ruined woman, and this time there would be no Mr. Darcy to come out from the shadow and claim that she had not been alone with a man, for it was Mr. Darcy who was the epicenter of her ruination. The hot feel of shame crawled up the back of her throat, and she felt rather ill.

"I…" she had no more words to say except that, and she trembled behind the bed-curtains.

"Would you have me fetch your sister?" he asked quietly, his tone turned thoughtful, caring.

"Please," she answered.

"I will send Miss Bennet up, and then I will seek out Mr. Bennet." He walked to the door, and lingered there for a moment. "I suppose your mother will be pleased. There will be a wedding for one of the Bennet sisters before the month is out."

Then he was gone. Her stomach was in turmoil and she thought for once she might actually faint. She sagged onto the bed, and with no regard to the maids who had made up the linens, or who might have to clean up after her, she curled up in the blankets and sobbed until Jane came to her.

* * *

Happy September everyone! I was away on a two-week trip, to Texas which was very hot. I know it's been a tough time in the USA right now, and I hope all my readers are safe and happy. I had a few friends in Florida, who thankfully got through Irma with minimal property damage despite being right in the eye of the storm.

In other news, I'm working on a third novel (yay!), and my second novel is out now on Amazon: Much Ado About I Do. I'll be posting chapters of it here soon.

Thank you so much for your support! I hope you liked this chapter.

\- Nora


	24. Chapter 24

It was decided that Jane would stay the night at Netherfield with Elizabeth, and Mr. Bennet would take rooms next to theirs. Mrs. Bennet returned home quietly with the rest of the girls, making a lesser exit than they had made an entrance. All of this, without a word being passed to Lizzy beyond her father telling her to stay put and speak to no-one. Jane brushed Elizabeth's hair back from her face, and pressed a cool, damp cloth to her forehead, in some attempt to console her.

Elizabeth drifted in and out of sleep, only to find that Jane was sat up beside her in bed, holding her hand tenderly and watching the fire.

She woke up with a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, and was certain she was ruined forever. Nothing had come to pass between her and Mr. Darcy, but while his reputation should not suffer overmuch from them being discovered in such a state together, hers was in tatters. Her mother must have been overwrought, and beyond comforting, and Elizabeth did not look forward to her shameful return to Longbourn only to be confronted by her mother's shrieking with nerves.

"Am I cursed?" Elizabeth asked, her voice no more than a croaking whisper. Jane made a sad face and slipped up onto the bed next to her sister and gave her a warm embrace.

"No, but I am convinced that perhaps you had best look to the decisions you make in the future," Jane said sensibly, but the way she held Elizabeth soothed the sting from her words. Lizzy nodded, feeling abjectly miserable, and let out a slow breath.

"He is a good man, is he not?" she asked in a trembling voice. Jane patted her shoulder gently.

"I should think so, coming to your rescue twice now-"

"He saw me in my underthings, he had best come to my rescue," Elizabeth protested. "The first time, yes, he had no need of rendering me assistance in such a manner." Elizabeth tried to think on what Wickham had said of Mr. Darcy and then compared it to the measure of the man she had come to know (albeit very little). It did not make sense, that he would go out of his way to deny Mr. Wickham his due, and then turn on another foot and cleave himself to her for the rest of their lives. Why did he do it? Out of honor? She pushed herself to sit up, and Jane wrapped a soft wool shawl around Elizabeth's shoulders so she would be warm.

"Mr. Bingley was quite… he was quite apologetic," Jane said in a soft voice. "He had sent for Mr. Darcy earlier in the evening, but the message was not relayed properly, and then when it was, the telling was mangled. Mr. Darcy was not supposed to come up here, but the servant who advised him as to Mr. Bingley's desires was among a general staff hired for the evening, not of the usual Netherfield people. 'Twas a mistake, one and all, of miscommunication and misdirection."

"And the tale ends up with me married to a man who finds me less than tolerable, and not handsome. He could barely converse with me over dinner, Jane, how am I to spend thirty years in his company?" She twisted and looked at her sister. Jane gave her another sympathetic glance and pulled at Elizabeth's braid, untying the ribbon that held it fast and combing her fingers through the loose hair.

"Some girls go to their husbands knowing less about them than even you, Lizzy, so it will just have to be your best effort to get along with him and make conversation as well you can. He does not seem overly demanding-"

"He is impossible! He disdains all that he feels is beneath him, and now his own wife will be beneath him…" she stuttered as she realized what she said and she pressed her fingers to her lips in embarrassment. Jane's cheeks went pink and they averted their eyes from one another for a long moment. "I only mean that I come from, that we are- we are not in his sphere of society," Elizabeth amended. Jane gave a little cough into her hand and then nodded, working at braiding back Elizabeth's hair that she had undone just minutes before.

"Well that is his burden, for you need only carry yourself proudly as a Bennet. You may be no well-dowered Miss, but you are the daughter of a gentleman, and you possess so many amiable qualities that any man would be grateful for having in a wife." Jane pursed her lips as she fussed with Elizabeth's braid, tying it off neatly.

"He is rich and well-traveled. I have rarely been outside the boundaries of Longbourn," Lizzy said with a low moan, flopping back against the pillows. She pressed the heels of her palms to her eyes and rubbed, trying to wipe the mind's image she had of Mr. Darcy, his back poker-straight as he as good as promised to marry her since he had seen her improperly dressed. He would not be pleased she thought, to have a wife from such lowly circumstances and such vulgar connections as her family in trade. Why had he agreed to it? Why had he even thought it? He could have left her to her fate, and eventually the stain of the whole situation would have washed off of him. It made no sense, she thought as Jane lay down next to her and blew out the candles. It made no sense at all.

"It makes no sense," Mr. Bingley said as he lounged on a chaise, a brandy in one hand as he watched Mr. Darcy standing by the fire. "You need not have offered for her so expediently. It would have been wiser, perhaps, to wait and see what the talk was. Netherfield is not so close to London-"

"Enough," Mr. Darcy said in a quiet voice. Mr. Bingley meant well, in fact meant the best, but he did not know the true nature of Mr. Darcy's heart.

Elizabeth was his. That single thought kept repeating over and over in his mind, and he felt at any moment it might be snatched from his grasp. If only the matter of taking her had not been circumspect. It was shameful, and not to his liking. That was the only shadow on the horizon. It was not his preference, to make an offer in such a hurried and base fashion. Any woman, especially any woman he desired, deserved a suitably long courtship so she might gather her trousseau and experience the measure of his generosity and kindness. Now that was not to be, for it they would need to marry shortly after the banns had been read. Mr. Bennet had mentioned that Mr. Darcy might apply for a special license, to hurry things along. The older man was less than pleased with the turn of events, even though Mr. Darcy had assured him, and the servant who had relayed the original message had backed up the claim, that his stumbling upon Elizabeth in her state of undress had not been planned.

No, it had not been planned. At first he had been angry, thinking that she had trapped him, but that thought had lasted a bare moment when he saw the look of horror and shame on her face. She had not expected him, had not anticipated that he would venture upon her like that. Indeed, the manner in which she held herself at all times suggested nothing of her behavior other than a strict adherence to proper comportment.

One other thing troubled him. She was uncertain of him, as any young maiden gently reared in the shelter away from London's society would be. He meant to show her in the coming months that he was no brute, to demand his husband's rights immediately. No, he mused, his Elizabeth would have time to process the change in her station and her status. He stroked his fingers over the great marble mantle, the stone warmed from the fire below. Would her skin be so warm? He dashed the thought away when Mr. Bingley spoke again.

"Had he called you out, you would have won," Mr. Bingley said mildly, although they both knew that Mr. Darcy was not in the mind to be fighting duels of honor.

"And what? Deprive those girls of their father? I think not. Mr. Bennet is a good man. I did not do this to prevent a fight, but rather to save her honor. She did not deserve what people might have said of her," Mr. Darcy muttered the last words, grateful that Miss Bingley's maid had been bought into silence with a few coins over the matter, providing a wedding had occurred. She'd not promised to keep quiet if they didn't do things 'right in the eyes of God, may he have mercy on all your souls'. Mr. Bingley sighed.

"You are a good man, Darcy," he said and then got to his feet, crossing the room to the low cart that held a variety of drinks. "A brandy, then? To toast your future?"

"I do not think drink is wise at this time," Darcy said, but held out his hand anyway. Bingley chuckled and passed him a crystal snifter with brandy generously poured into it.

"I will return to London tomorrow," Bingley said, looking about the room. Darcy raised his eyebrow at that and took a long sip of brandy. The liquid burnt down the back of his throat.

"Shall I see to the closing of the house for you? I must remain here for a short time, at least, to settle the articles of engagement."

"My sister is quite… distressed with the news of what has happened, and has asked me to return to London with her," Bingley shrugged his shoulder and then looked at the fire.

"I did not encourage her," Mr. Darcy said, feeling somewhat defensive. Mr. Bingley chuckled sadly.

"You need not have. She was determined, and now you are lost to her," he said before meeting Mr. Darcy's gaze. "She should not have counted on you when you showed no interest in her. But still, she is my sister and I would see her happy again. I will take her to London. A few weeks in her own society and she will be in a better frame of mind."

A thought pierced through his heart, and Mr. Darcy paused.

"She will not speak of the manner in which my engagement arose?" he asked, knowing that Miss Bingley was not altogether fond of Miss Elizabeth, and there might be some animosity from her in regards to his pending nuptials.

"She will not," Bingley said firmly, his jaw setting in a rare display of determination. "Under pain of being banished to our estates in the North should she mention a word of it."

Mr. Darcy only hoped the threat was enough, although he did not say as much to Bingley. It would not do to cut Bingley so, and implying that he could not control his own sister would do just that. 

* * *

Happy Sunday! Here's another chapter for you. Thank you for your kind words and comments! This story is up on amazon, but I'll keep posting new chapters every few days here. We're about half-way through now!


	25. Chapter 25

In the morning, a tray was sent up for the two girls, and they ate together surrounded by the finery of Netherfield's guest room. Lizzy had slept tolerably well, and did not feel nearly so muzzy-headed as she had done the night before.

The maid came to stoke the fire, and once she was gone, Elizabeth crossed the room to open the windows, letting in a fresh curl of air. She looked over Netherfield's grounds and imagined what Pemberley might be like.

"You look no different," Jane observed, spreading some dark red preserves over a buttered roll. She sat in a casual manner on the bed, as they might have once done when they were young girls, her toes curling into the luxurious counterpane.

"I feel no different," Lizzy replied, turning to look at her sister with a smile on her face. Things did not seem so dreary in the morning, and she thought with a sudden giddy feel that she was to be married. It was not something she had truly ever imagined for herself, at least, not a match with such an elevated gentleman. It more than overrode her feelings of apprehension at marrying someone who did not find her as beautiful as he might long for.

There came a knock at the door and a maid came in, curtseying.

"Miss, Master Darcy has sent this up for you," the maid said with a shy little smile, and in her arms was draped a handsome gown of soft rose. Jane looked at Elizabeth with wide eyes, a smile teasing at the corners of her lips.

"Oh," Elizabeth said, stepping towards where the maid laid the gown out for her across a low divan. She reached out one hand to touch the fabric of it and realized it was a fine silk. It rustled when she brushed her hand across one sleeve. "But he wouldn't have had this on hand, he does not know my measurements," she said quietly. The maid glanced at her and then down.

"The master travels with a few extra things should one of his female companions be required to… in case they should have need of…" the maid stumbled over her words and then curtsied again, averting her eyes again.

"Well that's quite thoughtful," Jane observed. The maid looked at her and then smiled.

"Would Miss be needing a gown as well? I will fetch one," the maid said, giving a good look at Jane as if taking her measurements from sight alone.

"Oh," Jane said, and then looked at Elizabeth who just nodded her encouragement.

"You cannot wear the gown from the ball today, Jane," Elizabeth said quietly. The maid bobbed another curtsey and then quit the room. Jane looked at the dress that had been brought up for Elizabeth, finer than any of their things at home and shook her head.

"You will never exceed his income, Lizzy," she said in a small voice, and then looked at her with hope in her eyes. "I should only hope to elevate myself so, but only if it was for love and naught else."

"I should hope it's for love as well. Mr. Bingley?" Elizabeth asked, and saw Jane blushing again.

"He is so amiable, so kind," Jane said, still quiet. "But I fear to become too attached for something that shall not come to pass." Elizabeth sighed and shook her head.

"You are far too reticent with your emotions, sister," she teased gently, but Jane made a face and then walked to the windows to look outside. Her shoulders were trembling, and Elizabeth wondered at how badly her emotions were in turmoil if she was this overwrought.

"I know what family we come from-" Jane started but Elizabeth interrupted her.

"Do not think that we are limited by our birth, Jane," she said, and then felt a fluttering feeling in her stomach. "Only think, not that I would wish my current circumstances upon anyone at any time, but Mr. Bingley is very fond of you, and if Mr. Darcy is to be my husband and they are so close, then perhaps it will come to pass that Mr. Bingley will also offer for you. It is not so far-fetched an idea, is it?"

Jane turned back to look at Elizabeth, and that's when Elizabeth noticed the tears welling up in the corners of Jane's eyes.

"Oh Jane," Lizzy murmured, and then walked to her sister, embracing her in a stout hug. "What is wrong?"

"I am just fearful, to love and not have it returned," Jane whispered, burying her face in Elizabeth's shoulder, clinging so tightly to her sister that Lizzy was sure she might bruise. She stroked Jane's hair gently, making soothing noises to comfort her.

"I do not think your feelings are unrequited, my love," she said gently to her older sister. For even though Jane was the elder of the two, in many ways she was more fragile. An optimistic soul, to be sure, but her emotions were easily battered by the everyday affairs of things. Clearly Jane was very much besotted by Mr. Bingley, and could not see that same love reflected in his eyes when he looked at her from across the dance floor or the room.

"How to be sure of him though?" she asked with a tremble in her voice. Elizabeth sighed in response.

"There is no surety in anything, Jane, you know that to be true, but I think that Charlotte was wise to advise me last night, that we must encourage the affection in gentlemen and once we have them secured, then we can learn to love them. It is a bit mercenary perhaps, but it might be the only way that we ensure our future is safe." Elizabeth smoothed away some of Jane's blonde hair from her face and Jane gave her a hesitant smile.

"It is is easy for you, now that your future is assured, and married to Mr. Darcy! Mother will be having fits, both of surprise and of absolute joy, I am certain of it," Jane said, smoothly changing the topic from her own love interests to Elizabeth's.

Elizabeth walked back to the pretty silk gown and sighed, shaking her head.

"I still can hardly believe it to be real. It is not ideal, not at all, to find oneself bound to someone else for reasons other than love-"

"But you just said yourself, once the man is secure, one could grow to love him, yes? Why not let your love grow, and do not worry about it all too much." Jane fell quiet as the maid entered, another gown in her arms, this in a delightful pale yellow that would suit Jane's coloring nicely, along with under chemises and petticoats for both of them. The maid helped them dress, but Elizabeth dismissed her when it came to the arranging of their hair. They both often preferred to help one another with it, having known the quality and length of each other's hair for so many years. When they were dressed for the day and finished their toilette entirely, Jane grasped Elizabeth's hands in hers and squeezed them.

"Your love will grow, Lizzy, I am sure of it, no matter the quality of his comments regarding you, you must have faith that he is a good man, and a decent man, despite his dour countenance." Jane gave her a bright smile and then leaned in, kissing her on one cheek. Elizabeth felt a shiver of nervous emotion in her stomach but nodded.

"But he is so very dour," she commented mournfully. Jane just laughed.

"With you at his side, I can hardly see how he might remain as such," she said. "You will surely light his days, and bring a smile to his face. Perhaps not right now, Lizzy, dear, but in a matter of weeks, I am sure of it!"

It's so great to have you as a reader! And thank you for sticking with my little story! As always you can find this on Amazon or other online book shops, or you can read it here as I post each chapter every few days!


	26. Chapter 26

Thank you so much for your reviews and comments! I just wanted to address one repeated comment I received over and over (and thank you, clever readers, for pointing it out to me): no, Mr. Darcy is not in the habit of trotting along dresses wherever he goes because he's constantly debauching ladies. Nor is it that he is, errr, a gentleman who likes to don the garments of women. He's actually just a very thoughtful older brother who has made it a habit to travel with several suits of clothing for his sister as she has a fondness for horses and the outdoors, and so his valet makes sure that there are always garments for the rather tall Miss Darcy to wear should they find themselves in a situation requiring her to be dressed in something that _isn't_ covered in mud. :) But I do appreciate your thoroughness and thoughtfulness when it comes to leaving your comments!

* * *

Breakfast was quiet in the morning room, with a much-reduced attendance. Elizabeth looked uncertainly at Jane, but her eyes were downcast and she did not meet Elizabeth's gaze. Mr. Bingley had already quit Netherfield, early in the morning along with his sister, Miss Bingley. The reasons stated were business back in London, but there was an air of unease to Mr. Darcy when he spoke to Jane about it, passing on a letter that Mr. Bingley had left for her.

Elizabeth knew that it had more to do with Miss Bingley's desire for Mr. Darcy, and the unhappiness the woman must be experiencing to find the man she wanted was now surely off the market.

"I believe we will receive your parents later today," Mr. Darcy said from across the table, not looking at Elizabeth as he buttered a piece of toast. He had barely made eye contact with her, and she wondered how he might have felt regarding their future and impending marriage. Certainly he gave no indication of favor toward her, since he had barely looked at her from the moment she stepped into the morning room. No, his sole attention had been focused on Jane and relaying the news of Mr. Bingley's departure.

"I am sure they will be most anxious to be received by you, Mr. Darcy," Elizabeth said, uncertain of the chain of events that were about to be unleashed, upending her life and changing it forever. Surely there were the articles of marriage to be discussed and signed for, although she was not sure what those might be. She brought so little to this marriage, they were thoroughly and unequally yoked. Him with his 10,000 a year, and her with her paltry… well, the sum was not even worthy of thinking on. She felt her cheeks flush at the meager offerings she might give Mr. Darcy as she watched him from under her long eyelashes. She wondered how he felt… certainly his face gave no hint as to his emotional state. He had been nothing but courteous, if distant.

"Can we expect a short engagement then, Mr. Darcy," Jane asked, even though the question was somewhat impertinent and out of keeping with her character. Elizabeth looked at her older sister in surprise. That was not the way in which Jane normally talked to men, and certainly not men of such great status as Mr. Darcy. He glanced at her, but did not seem ruffled by her question. Instead he put down the knife that he was using to butter another slice of toast.

"Miss Elizabeth and I will discuss that with Mr. Bennet this afternoon," he said, and then shot a brief, if hesitant smile at Elizabeth. Her heart nearly stopped to see him look at her so, and she felt mildly unsettled. It was not that his smile was not pleasing, it certainly as, she had just never seen such an expression on his face and it made her wonder as to the depths of his feelings and what he truly must be thinking… up until that moment she had been sure he was resigned to having her for a wife but not altogether displeased since he had seemed to not attach himself or show special favor to any woman so far. Perhaps he longed for a wife, if it might be someone who would see to the managing of his household and having it arranged to his liking. A young bachelor was not always able to entertain or enjoy his wealth as well as a married man might be.

A wife could be an excellent addition to a young man's household, and while he had not seemed to be on the market in an obvious fashion, perhaps this was an outcome that was not altogether displeasing for him?

That thought stopped her boldly where she was and she had to take a long sip of tea to calm the nerves in her stomach. Was he… pleased with her? She watched him carefully again, and wondered. Finally he was watching her just as she looked at him, and the corner of his mouth turned upwards again, not a sign of displeasure at all!

There was a tickle in her belly, a slight thrill of excitement and she sighed out across her cup of tea, the rich herbal scent suffusing the air around her.

Perhaps all was not lost, and they could be at the least, good friends and partners to one another. If he was very serious and staid in his demeanor, and with an aloof mien, he was not an unkind man. She had never seen him treat the people who served him with a haughty air, or rudeness. He had a quiet expectation about him, as if he had the understanding that all that surrounded him would be to his liking, but that did not mean he was unpleasant. He was just accustomed to his world being as he preferred it, that was all.

She swallowed another mouthful of tea as the silence stretched out between the three morning diners, and thought that she could handle the quiet of his breakfast table if it meant an affable, if distant man would share the rest of her life. Yes, she thought, she could manage all of that, if he was not unkind.

"I look forward to seeing my parents, Mr. Darcy, and I hope that we can come to some agreement regarding the length of our engagement," Elizabeth said politely. He nodded and then cleared his throat.

"I should think that you need only spend some time in London, outfitting yourself with your trousseau, before the wedding itself," he commented, then a light flush suffused his cheeks. "I would think that I might invite you to stay at Darcy house while there, with your family of course, to be at comfort while doing those tasks."

She paused, about to reach for a boiled egg, and looked at him. Jane also looked up, blinking. Such an invitation was generous, and very surprising.

"I would thank you for that, sir, but we do have family in London, in Cheapside, that we might stay with. The Gardiners," Elizabeth said slowly and cautiously. There was a flicker on his face, a slight frown, and he looked down at his plate with a slow nod.

"I see. And that would suit you better, to stay with the Gardiners?" he asked, and she wondered for a moment if she had affronted him by refusing his invitation. "In Cheapside?" he added, and she realized that it was not the refusal of his invitation that had offended him, but the idea of her staying with her relatives in trade. She sat there, stunned for a moment and then felt a flush of anger on her face.

"Yes, Mr. Darcy, it would suit me better," she said, not hiding at all the irritation in her voice. He met her gaze steadily and then wiped at his mouth.

"As you wish it, then," he said, and rose, bowing to them. "I will retire to my study. I have sent a message to your family so that they may come to call and we will begin the negotiations on the articles of marriage."

He left without another word, not even waiting for them to curtsey. Jane blew out a breath and looked at her sister. Elizabeth felt cut to the bone.

He was marrying her out of duty, out of honor, she realized. That did not mean that the circumstances of her birth or of her connections had gone disregarded by him. He still saw her as she was, and found her wanting.

* * *

Hope you are having a lovely day! You can find me by norakipling (dottt) com or on Amazon! Let me know what you think of this story, I love to hear your thoughts and comments! I've just updated my website with a new layout and a new header image (that miiiight just be a sneak peek of the cover of my new book coming out at the end of December...)


	27. Chapter 27

"Oh my dear girl!" Mrs. Bennet immediately embraced Elizabeth as if she had always been her favorite daughter. Elizabeth tried not to roll her eyes as Mrs. Bennet kissed her on each cheek. "Engaged! Engaged to be married to Mr. Darcy," she said, quite forgetting her ire over Mr. Darcy's early comments as to Elizabeth's tolerability and handsomeness (or lack thereof). Mr. Bennet followed her out of the carriage at a slower pace, greeting Mr. Darcy with a short bow that was just a shade on the side of impolite. Jane was grateful that the rest of their sisters had not come along for the visit.

"Mr. Darcy," Mrs. Bennet greeted him, a happy flush on her cheeks as she did so with a deep curtsey. He bowed in return, no smile marking his face. Elizabeth turned to her father, and then felt the breath rush out of her lungs as she was swept into a large hug as well. It was improper. The staff of Netherfield were staring. She decided she did not care. Mr. Darcy was going to marry her, for all her faults and foibles, so he had better get used to Elizabeth Bennet as she was and as she intended to be: a country bride who had no need for the high attitudes of London or the halls of his precious Darcy house.

She felt spiteful towards the man who had admittedly helped her twice, choosing to bind himself to her for life instead of allowing her reputation to fall into ruins. He had rescued her, and while she felt somewhat guilty at her less than charitable attitude, she could not help it. He was a small-minded aristocrat, and everything he looked at her she felt the judgment pouring all over her skin.

"I am pleased to receive you both," Mr. Darcy said in his quiet manner, and then he looked at Mr. Bennet. "There is a library where we might sequester ourselves, to discuss the manner of the arrangements at hand. Would Mrs. Bennet like to tour Netherfield's art collection perhaps? I could order tea as well, and some refreshments." They walked into the large estate, Mrs. Bennet casting an eye about the house. It already had the decorations from the ball swept away, the remnants of chalk drawings on the floor from the dance washed off. Elizabeth barely remembered them, but she thought it had been constellations marked out, or some such thing. Her memories of last night were vague, centered on the discovery of herself with Mr. Darcy. That stood out, stark and visible in her mind's eye.

"Yes, I think a private discussion would be excellent at this time, Mr. Darcy," Mr. Bennet said very formally, and Elizabeth watched her father. She was his favorite, as much as he was inclined to pick favorites given that he hardly paid any attention at all to his children, and she wondered if he had taken the news well or with difficulty. He gave no indication as to his thoughts, and so she hoped that he was taking it well. She was no Jane, who was a peacekeeper in the house to all the sisters, but there was some measure of steadiness she knew she brought to their family that would be missed. At least, she hoped it would be missed.

"Tea sounds lovely, what do you think my dears?" Mrs. Bennet asked, showing far more affection to her girls than she normally did. Usually her attention and love was focused on Lydia first, then Jane and perhaps Kitty.

"I shall order it then," Mr. Darcy said as he lead the way, speaking quietly to Mr. Bennet. The two men left the women at a well-appointed drawing room, where there was a sudden silence between the three of them. Then Mrs. Bennet exclaimed,

"I am ever so pleased to see you have done your family proud in making such an excellent match," she said, looking at Elizabeth with pride in her expression. Elizabeth felt herself blushing, because if it had not been for Miss Bingley's maid, there might not have been a wedding at all. While she was sure that Mr. Darcy was an honorable sort, not likely to have stumbled across a half-dressed woman on purpose, she did not think if there had been witnesses to her shame that he would have offered for her as quickly as he did, if at all.

No, she thought, given his disdain for her and her family, Mr. Darcy would not have offered for her at all.

"Thank you, Mamma," she murmured quietly. Mrs. Bennet looked around the room and then clapped her hands together.

"And now Jane, we must think of securing Mr. Bingley for you-"

"Mamma!" Jane cried out, her eyes wide. "Elizabeth has not even… the engagement is not even yet…" she stumbled over her words, but Elizabeth knew that she had to be feeling a level of discomfort and pressure given that Mr. Bingley had left for London with no personal notice other than a letter. If there was to be interest between Mr. Bingley and Jane, if there was to be any sort of engagement, it would not be while he was away in London. It could only happen if he returned to Netherfield, which she was not sure would occur anytime soon given the state of Miss Bingley's emotions and what they must be. The shrill woman would be at her brother every minute, cursing out Elizabeth's name. Mr. Bingley was unfailingly kind, but she felt he was rather easily swayed, and the Bennet family name would not be one that was well received in the Bingley household for some time to come.

No, Elizabeth's engagement had probably come at the cost of Jane's. Guilt pricked at her as she looked at her sister.

"There is time for Jane," Elizabeth said, suddenly deciding to take some of the new power she had as a nearly-or-as-good-as engaged woman. "My husband-to-be has offered us to stay in Darcy house before the wedding, and when I am married, I should think that Jane would come visit me in London where she might see Mr. Bingley."

She paused when she saw the stricken look on her mother's face, confused as to why it was there.

"To London… to see Mr. Bingley?" Mrs. Bennet asked, and then she looked at Jane. "What is he doing in London?"

Elizabeth felt her stomach drop. Their mother did not know that Mr. Bingley had left, and at such an early hour that it could not be construed as anything but a slight against them both. She felt her cheeks heating up as Jane smiled sadly.

"Mr. Bingley has quit Netherfield, as he has business to attend to in London. His sister has gone with him, quite early this morning I believe," she said in a small voice. Mrs. Bennet gasped and pressed a hand to her mouth.

"But surely… no, he must stay and offer for you, that is…" Mrs. Bennet was turning an odd shade of beet red, and Elizabeth got up to kneel in front of her, taking her mother's hands in her own.

"He will return, shortly, I am sure of it, for he will want to be here to see his closest friend, Mr. Darcy, wedded. In the meantime, I believe Mr. Darcy wishes I go to London to prepare my trousseau. Might Jane accompany me?" she asked. She wondered if Mr. Darcy's offer for them to stay at Darcy house was still available, as they would be in much better circumstances to receive callers of the Bingley kind for Jane there. Mrs. Bennet smiled at Elizabeth's words, and then looked at her eldest daughter.

"We will see you engaged before the season turns, I am certain of it. You will go to London with Elizabeth, and it is most generous of Mr. Darcy to offer you the use of his London townhouse. Most, most generous!" All was well again with their mother, and Elizabeth was just grateful that a fit of their mother's nerves had been forestalled.

For all that Mr. Darcy was aware of her mother's loud and outspoken behavior, he did not need to know that she regularly suffered from an affliction of her nerves. It would not do if he thought his wife might behave in the same manner.

* * *

December is in full swing at my house! Christmas tree is up, and I'm planning on baking loads of cookies and other sugary goodies. What are your plans for the holidays, if you celebrate them?

Also I'm excited to say that my new book, Starcrossed at Longbourn is up for pre-order on Amazon. It'll be released on Dec 25 (just in time to snuggle in with a hot coffee or cocoa and read!), and then I'll start posting chapters from it here!


	28. Chapter 28

The articles of the engagement were discussed quite quickly, or so Elizabeth thought, although she did not exactly have any other experience with which to compare it to. A few days later, the four Bennets returned to Longbourn to be greeted with excitement by the youngest Bennets. The plan was set that Elizabeth and Jane would go to London and stay at Darcy house, in the hopes that the elevated status of where they stayed would attract a certain Mr. Bingley to visit.

While in London, they would shop for the necessary items Elizabeth would need for her trousseau, as well as paying visits to the society that she had never met before. Having not been to London, Elizabeth was nervous and excited at the same time.

She still could not quite believe that in a few months time she would be getting married to Mr. Darcy, and was again grateful for the discretion of the staff at Netherfield for the word of her disgrace had not escaped them. They kept their counsel, which helped her sleep easily and look forward to the preparations of becoming Mrs. Darcy.

Mrs. Darcy. She sat on the edge of the bed she shared with Jane, running her fingers over the soft linen counterpane, wondering at the few nights she would spend underneath it with her best friend and sister. The future was going to be so very different, and months of separation would pass where she was not able to be close and trade confidences with Jane. A whirl of discomfort circled in her belly as she stood, her trunk packed and readied for the trip to London. She was only bringing enough to keep her well dressed until her new gowns could be made, as one of the articles her father had negotiated was a set of new gowns at Mr. Darcy's expense.

She wondered at that, but could not believe it was something that Mr. Darcy had argued against at length, because she supposed he did not want a wife who looked as if she had been born and raised in the country, even if she was. No, Mr. Darcy would want his wife as well turned out as possible, even if it wasn't in the highest of fashions, because he himself dressed rather sensibly for his income. It was a good thing as well, because although she enjoyed pretty things, she was no fancy miss as to need lace dripping from every sleeve and every hem and necklace embroidered over with pearls. Lydia had exclaimed over the fact that Elizabeth was to get a whole new wardrobe, with no small amount of jealousy before Mrs. Bennet had hushed her. For now, at least, Lizzy was the prized child, since she was the one with an upcoming wedding.

Many hopes had been pinned on Elizabeth, as one of the articles had been a small portion of funds being given to each of the girls as part of their dowry. It would increase their attractiveness as future wives, and Lizzy had felt compelled to write to Mr. Darcy to thank him for his generosity. Truly, he was behaving as if he meant to welcome all of her family into the Darcy fold. Time would only tell how correct that was, since she was sure her family would be held at an arm's length.

Mayhap it was just pre-wedding kindness that had taken over his thinking.

The trip to London saw them chaperoned by their Aunt Gardiner, who had come in to visit briefly with Mrs. Bennet before they departed. She would not stay with them at Darcy house, for Mr. Darcy had arranged for a paid companion, a married woman by the name of Mrs. Booth. Elizabeth had already received one letter from Mrs. Booth, who seemed an amiable sort and had expressed how she looked forward to accompanying Elizabeth around London as she did her shopping and paid her social calls.

The social calls, Lizzy had to privately admit, were giving her some reason to be concerned. She had never moved in the kinds of circles Mr. Darcy did, and she had every reason to believe that all the women would be similar to Miss Bingley: superior, shrewish, and single-minded in their pursuits of husbands to the death of all else that their personalities might otherwise offer.

It was a good thing that Jane would be going with her. Otherwise, she wasn't sure how comfortable she would have been even with Mrs. Booth to help smooth the way for her.

"Do you think Mrs. Booth is hired to keep me company, or to keep me from embarrassing Mr. Darcy?" Lizzy asked when the finely appointed Darcy carriage had stopped for a rest so they might stretch their legs and eat a good luncheon at a passing inn.

"My word, Lizzy!" Aunt Gardiner said, looking shocked at her niece's bluntness. "I shouldn't be saying that within hearing of anyone at all, were I you. He offered for you, did he not? He wouldn't think you to be an embarrassment if he wished to take you for a wife."

Jane just cast Elizabeth a troubled look. Lizzy knew she wasn't being entirely charitable to Mr. Darcy, but how did she know that he would not cast her off at Pemberley, and leave her there while he moved about his other estates and saw to his affairs elsewhere? He could very well live in London without her for the rest of her life, since he was not in love with her and was not likely to feel the pain of being parted from her.

She wondered, as they sat in the carriage and were brought closer and closer to London, if her future would be a bleak, empty existence, waiting for a man who had married her out of obligation.

The thought filled her with dread, but all of it went right out the window as their carriage arched over a hill and she saw London for the very first time. Spread out across the land, it was a series of pitched roofs and smoke stacks. Her eyes widened.

"Jane," she murmured. Jane looked out the window of the carriage and grabbed her hand so they could steady her. London was so very, very large, and intimidating. Elizabeth could feel her heart beating uncomfortably in her chest as they approached the city's edge. Soon they were engulfed in it, surrounded on all sides by the press of buildings, people walking just arm's length and sometimes only a finger's length from the carriage window.

"Welcome to London, my girls," Aunt Gardiner said, a particular smile on her mouth as she watched the two of them stare, and stare, and stare.

There were no words to describe the bustle, Elizabeth thought, none at all, other than she suddenly felt quite small and out of place. London was not her world, and she was neither high sophisticated woman meant for the drawing rooms of the most prominent families, nor working-class laundress. Was there a place in London for her? Would this world, and the society that came with it, ever accept her? As they pulled up to Darcy house in London, her stomach felt as if it was weighed down with a rock.

It's been a little bit since I was able to update! My father is very sick with terminal cancer, so updating has been difficult over the holidays. So here's the newest chapter! As always the book is available in full right now on your favorite e-book seller, along with my other books! But I'll be posting more chapters in the coming weeks here so that the complete book will be available.


	29. Chapter 29

"That's a lovely color, Miss Elizabeth," Mrs. Booth, it turned out, was quite kind. She was a widow, and had been out of society for some time before agreeing to Mr. Darcy's request to accompany Elizabeth and Jane. There was something quiet and thoughtful about her that had put Elizabeth at ease the very first time they met.

She was no high-spirited woman, being older even than Mrs. Bennet, but she had helped her own niece prepare for her wedding in recent years so had a good idea of the best seamstresses and milliners to visit. Slowly, over a period of days, Elizabeth swore that Mrs. Booth had taken them to every popular seamstress in town at least twice.

The wedding dress was the only thing that Elizabeth had taken charge of, in finding the seamstress and the paying for it. It would not do for Mr. Darcy to pay for her wedding dress, and Mr. Bennet had sent along a letter of credit with her so she might get whatever she needed while she was in London. She did not intend to spend very much, wanting something simple for her wedding that would do as a travel dress and serve her afterwards for some time to come. That, and she did not want to stretch her father's purse strings past their breaking point by spending frivolously when he still had four other daughters to think of. Even though Mr. Darcy had offered up a large sum to add to each of their dowries, and some keep money to assist with the costs of their future weddings, the marriage had not taken place yet.

She was not yet Mrs. Darcy. Her sisters' futures were not yet secure. That happy event would only take place once she was his, in name, by law, in all ways. While she knew it was very unlikely he would back out of the plans for the wedding, she still had a thread of nervousness in the back of her mind. For someone who was dreading being married to Mr. Darcy, she was quite anxious that it would not happen.

She realized that Mrs. Booth was speaking to her, and she jerked back to the present moment with a gasp.

"I am so sorry, I was leagues away," she said, only to find Mrs. Booth smiling at her patiently. Jane was smiling as well, although hers was half-hidden behind a fan.

"Quite alright dear, it is fairly normal for young women to be distracted in the weeks advancing towards their wedding. Were you thinking of your fair groom then?" Mrs. Booth asked kindly and Elizabeth blushed. She had been, yes, but perhaps not in the manner that Mrs. Booth might have guessed. She opened up her own fan and used it to enjoy a cool breeze across her heated cheeks. "I was saying, is this color not darling? I think it would look well on you for the wedding, since you were wanting something practical as well it will be a serviceable fabric for afterward as well." Mrs. Booth was pointed to a brushed gray muslin that looked delightfully soft and plush. Elizabeth was tempted, and gave in to the urge, to reach out and stroke it. It was the color of a dove, a creamy gray that had a hint of purple in it, so that it would not cause her complexion to look sallow. Mrs. Booth had quite the eye for fabrics and colors. Elizabeth was grateful that she was along for these important buying trips. Her own mother would have seen Elizabeth decorated in so many ribbons and bits of lace that Lizzy would resemble the trim pile in a tailor's shop, but Mrs. Booth had a more refined and subtle fashion sense.

"I agree, it would look so well on you," Jane commented, petting the fabric herself and smiling at Elizabeth. They shared a secret grin for a moment, since both girls were fond of soft, cozy little fabrics that felt as if they snuggled you as much as draped about your body. Mrs. Booth nodded.

"Very sensible choice, I should think. Do you agree, Miss Elizabeth?"

"I do, thank you for pointing it out to me," Elizabeth said before turning to the shop assistant. The girl nodded, taking down the number of the bolt.

"A nice wedding suit will look lovely in this, Miss," the girl said before looking to a tray of pearls and small beads. "Perhaps some decoration, or ribbon trim?" she asked with a tilt of her head. Elizabeth hesitated for a moment but Mrs. Booth put a gentle hand in the small of her back.

"A girl deserves a little bit of finery. Your wedding should not be so austere as to make a monk proud! Let us look at ribbons, and at pearls," Mrs. Booth encouraged gently as Elizabeth walked up to the counter. Beautiful lace and velvet ribbons, brocades, and embroidered, all lay curled in their little boxes, and pearls of so many different colors and sizes the like she had never seen before. There were pink ones, and some that could even be said to be purple, although very few of those.

"Oh my goodness, Lizzy, the pearls," Jane gushed softly as she looked at them. There was a hint of sadness, although no envy, in Jane's voice. Elizabeth felt, unfairly, that it should have been Jane's wedding they were preparing for, not her own. Not yet. It was not right that she should marry, and not to someone she loved, while Jane remained unattached and desperately in love.

"We've got something quite lovely we've done with them pearls," the girl said, a hint of her lower accent coming out in her voice. She was a shop assistant, but she was skilled with her charcoal as she'd drawn out the sketch for Elizabeth's wedding dress. "Just last month we did a net for the bride's hair, all covered in the pearls there. Looked beautiful when it was all done and tucked into her curls."

The look of longing on Jane's face was enough to do Elizabeth's heart in. Again she felt that Jane should have been the one about to put down coin against a net covered with pearls, not Elizabeth.

She looked at the shop assistant, her mouth set stubbornly.

"What about pins, hair pins, decorated with pearls?" she asked, feeling the weight of the money she carried in her purse quite sharply.

"Oh yes, miss, it's quite a popular fashion with the upper set, the ton, you know," the assistant said with a conspiratorial wink. "They say it's good luck if your gentleman can winkle them all out of your curls before he-"

"Ahem!" Mrs. Booth cleared her throat from behind the two Bennet sisters, and the shop assistant turned a bright pink in the face. She fell quiet for a moment and then turned, pulling out a tray, laid under with expensive velvet, a sprinkling of be-pearled hair pins across it.

"Was these what you was looking for, miss?" she asked. Elizabeth saw Jane's fingers curl tight into themselves and she knew in that moment that she had to get them for her sister.

"Yes, a full set, if you please," she asked, then smiled at Jane. "If you're standing up for me, then I must get you a gift to thank you," she said. Jane's eyes widened.

"Oh Lizzy, you can't," she protested, "the expense-"

"I'll be Mrs. Darcy before you know it," Elizabeth said with a breezy air she did not feel but was going to pretend at to improve her sister's feelings over it. "A few pearls will be nothing to me then."

"So it is true," a hateful voice rang out across the shop, and Elizabeth felt the cold trail of invisible fingers down her spine. She turned in a rustle of skirts and saw Miss Caroline Bingley standing at the entrance, accompanied by another young woman who was clearly of the ton and by the look of her face thought about as little of the Bennet sisters as Miss Bingley did. "You've come to London," Miss Bingley continued, and then let out a little laugh, fluttering her fan against one cheek, "to put together your trousseau, oh how droll, don't you think Miss Beckworth."

Mrs. Booth frowned at the two girls, and drew her shoulders back, clearly offended by the lack of introduction before the claws were out.

"I do not believe we have been introduced to Miss Beckworth," Mrs. Booth said in such a cold voice that both of the newcomers startled.

"Mrs. Booth," Miss Bingley clearly knew Mrs. Booth from some prior engagement or event, and then curtsied briefly, Miss Beckworth following her move. "Miss Amelia Beckworth, please meet Mrs. Booth. Mrs. Booth, this is Miss Beckworth, a dear friend of mine."

Mrs. Booth made a low noise and then nodded to the younger woman, curtseying as well.

"And have you made acquaintances known to Miss Bennet and Miss Elizabeth?" Mrs. Booth asked in a severe manner. Miss Bingley looked at the two Bennets with carefully concealed dislike, hiding it all behind a smile that did not quite reach her eyes.

"Miss Bennet, Miss Eliza, please meet Miss Beckworth. I am sure you will run into her, or her brother, Mr. James Beckworth, at some event or party here in London," Miss Bingley said, although from the tone of her voice it was clear she didn't think that either girl would be invited.

The shop assistant had come up with Elizabeth's purchases neatly packaged in a box, then wrapped up in cloth.

"Thank you for your custom, miss," she said with a bob and a smile. She moved to take the parcel to the footman who waited just inside the door but Elizabeth stopped her, accepting the small package for herself.

"Thank you very much," she said, and then swept by Miss Bingley and Miss Beckworth with the barest of curtsies so as not to upset Mrs. Booth. She would carry her own things. If that upset the ton, well, that was quite frankly, too bad for them.

To my dear readers: your comments and kind words of support and prayers have been so, so very welcome. I have been reading them aloud to my father as he is on bedrest for now until his radiation treatment is finished and then we hope we will have another few good months with him. Your notes of support have really lifted his spirits, and mine. He likes me to read to him from Jane Austen's works, and also mine as well, so it's wonderful to have the sweet words from fellow Janeites. I hoped you have enjoyed this chapter, and I will try to update with another one by the end of the weekend as a small way that I might say thank you!

With all my love and gratitude,

Nora


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